Just post a few representative figures. . . . . . Li Qingzhao: Like a dream, I often remember the sunset at the creek pavilion. Drunk and not knowing the way back. Returning to the boat late after all the fun, I strayed into the depths of lotus flowers. Fight for crossing. Fight for crossing. A group of gulls and herons were startled. Like a dream, it was rainy and windy last night. Heavy sleep will not eliminate the remaining wine. When I asked the person behind the curtain, I found that Begonia was still the same. Do you know? Do you know? It should be green, red and thin. The sound is slow and searching, deserted and miserable. It is most difficult to breathe when it is warm and then cold. Three cups and two cups of light wine are no match for him. The wind comes late and the wind blows. The wild geese are passing by, and I am sad, but it is an old acquaintance. The ground is covered with yellow flowers. Haggard and damaged, who can pick B62C now? Watching the window, how can you be alone in the dark? The phoenix trees are covered with drizzle, and it rains bit by bit at dusk. This time, the word "sorrow" is so special. Qin Guan: Huanxi Sand Desert Qinghan goes up to the small building, Xiaoyin is like a poor autumn. Light smoke and flowing water paint a quiet screen. The flying flowers are as light as dreams, the boundless silk rain is as thin as sorrow, and the precious curtains are hung with small silver hooks. The courtyard is full of fragrance, the mountains are covered with light clouds, the sky is sticky with decaying grass, and the sound of paintings cuts off the Qiaomen. Pause the expedition and chat about sex to lead Li Zun. How many old events in Penglai can only be looked back in vain, filled with mist. Outside the setting sun, there are thousands of jackdaws, and flowing water surrounds the isolated village. When the soul disappears, at this moment, the sachet is secretly dissolved, and the belt is lightly divided. Man wins the brothel, but survives in name. When will we see you again? There are crying marks on the sleeves. From the injured place, Gaocheng can be seen, and the lights are already dusk. Liu Yong: Butterfly Loves Flowers. Standing in a dangerous building, the wind blows softly, looking at the spring sorrow, the gloomy sky. In the lingering light of the grass-colored smoke, there is no word to say who will be silent. I plan to get drunk and sing to the wine, but the strong music is still tasteless. The belt becomes wider and wider, but I don't regret it anymore. I feel haggard because of the beauty. The rain is ringing, the cicadas are mournful, it is late in the pavilion, and the showers are beginning to stop. There is no trace of drinking in the tent of the capital, and the place of nostalgia is the orchid boat. Holding hands and looking into tearful eyes, they were speechless and choked. The thought goes away, thousands of miles of smoke waves, the dusk is heavy and the sky is vast. Since ancient times, sentimental feelings have been saddened by farewell, and even more embarrassing and neglected Qingqiu Festival! Where did you wake up tonight? On the bank of willows, the dawn wind wanes and the moon falls. After so many years, it should be a good time and good scenery. Even if there are thousands of customs, who can tell them? The eight sounds of Ganzhou are reflected in the Xiaoxiao dusk rain that sprinkles the river sky to wash away the autumn. The wind is getting colder and frostier, the Guanhe River is deserted, and the remaining light shines on the building. The redness and greenness of this place have declined, and the beauty of the place has ceased. Only the water of the Yangtze River flows eastward without words. I can't bear to climb high and look far away, looking at the distance of my hometown. I can't bear to think about it. Sighing at the traces of the past years, why is there so much suffering left behind? I want to see a beautiful woman makeup in the building, but I miss it a few times, and I know I'm going back to the boat in the sky. Strive to know me, leaning against the balconies, feeling leisurely and sorrowful. Li Yu: Poppy When did the spring flowers and autumn moon come, how much do you know about the past? There was an east wind in the small building last night, and the motherland cannot bear to look back in the bright moon. The carved railings and jade masonry should still be there, but the beauty has changed. Asking you how much sorrow you can have is like a river of spring water flowing eastward. That's almost it. . . . . .
There are a lot of poems by these people. Well, there are also some graceful poets such as Yan Shu, Yan Jidao, Jiang Kui, etc. They are not published because they are not as famous as the above ones.