Poems and sentences mourning the dead

The son of a childe belongs to a poor spring, and the heavy soil is separated forever.

Who can obey in private? It's no good staying too long.

I respect my life. I have changed my mind and turned against the original service.

Looking at Lou, thinking about this person, thinking about the experience in the room.

There is nothing on the picture, but there are traces of calligraphy.

The incense has not stopped, but it is still on the wall.

Disappointment seems to exist, and the return is shocking.

Like a bird in the Hanlin forest, once in a lifetime.

If you swim like a fish in Sichuan, you can see the middle of the road.

The spring breeze is coming and the dressing gown is dripping.

When you forget to sleep, your worries accumulate day by day.

When you are weak, you can still attack.

Mourning poem Shen Yue went to autumn in March and May and still shines in this autumn.

Nowadays, orchids and grass grow in spring, and then they will be fragrant in spring.

Sadly, human nature is different. Once you are grateful, you will die forever.

Because the curtain screen was destroyed, the curtain mat was more open.

Dust covers an empty seat, while solitary account covers an empty bed.

Everything is endless, and it hurts the survivors.

The poems about Jiang Yan's beauty written by people in the mourning room have been handed down from generation to generation, and all the worries are recorded.

The candle is dark at night, but the golden mirror remains the same during the day.

Tung leaves give birth to green water, and foggy days flow.

Fang is not empty, birds think of time.

Xiang Yong acted cautiously, but he couldn't help it.

Jiang Yan, a poet in the mourning room, saw Ye Ao, which has revived the flower temples.

The spring breeze in the tent is swaying, and the eaves are still swaying.

Seeing the scenery with tears destroys the heart and the things.

Today's sadness needs tears, and yesterday's joy often wanders.

Who can comfort you if you keep sighing?

Ai Jia's youngest daughter, A Yuanzhen, and her favorite daughter, Xie, just married this penniless scholar.

You saw me naked in the box. You take off the gold brooch and buy me wine.

You eat your food with wild vegetables, but your food is sweet. You cook with dead branches with leaves.

Now that I am a high official, you are far away from the world and sent some monks and priests to be at the mercy of monks.

A long time ago, we joked that one of us would die, but suddenly, before my eyes, you left.

The clothes you have worn have been given away, and I can't bear to open your sewing box.

Because I miss you, I love girls very much, and many of your dreams, I will burn paper for you.

No one knows that the husband and wife will be sad, and many past memories are extremely sad.

I'm sitting here alone, mourning for both of us. How many years is my seventy years old? .

There is a better person than me, and God rejected a son. Pan Yue's mourning is still a waste of language.

Even if you can bury it, you can't tell a passion. What an illusory hope the fetters of the afterlife are.

However, when I open my eyes, I can see the whole night, the lifelong troubles in your brow.

Thinking about the five yuan Zhen's self-love makeup mirror, the green silk is surrounded.

Soon, a swallow was shot in the fat cheek, and a red Su Xuan was about to melt.

The mountain spring flows around the steps, and thousands of trees and peach blossoms reflect the small building.

I turned the book lazily, got up lazily, and combed my hair through the crystal curtain.

Red roses promote the new era, and the gauze is delicate and dusty.

Don't think the material of the cloth is too weak yet. Silk and weft are the best.

Once I tasted the vast sea, I felt that the water in other places was pale; Once you have experienced the clouds in Wushan, you feel that the clouds elsewhere are eclipsed.

Hurried through the flowers, lazy to look back; This reason is partly because of the ascetic monk, and partly because of who you used to be.

At that time, a hundred flowers were blooming, and I just picked a white flower for you, a woman with white skin.

Now I stand quietly like two or three trees, and there is only one poor green leaf to spend the late spring with me.

Jinse Li Shangyin I want to know why my Jinse has fifty strings, each with a youthful interval.

Zhuangzi daydreaming, a saint, was bewitched by butterflies, and cuckoo crowed in the imperial spring.

Mermaids shed pearl-like tears on the moon-green sea, and the blue fields breathed their jade to the sun.

It's worth remembering that it had come and gone before I knew it.

In the first month, Li Shang, the mansion, was secretly locked and closed, covered with moss, and the corridor was deep, and the pavilion lingered here.

The prophet is dizzy in the windy month, but the cold flowers still bloom.

The bat blows the curtain and turns, and the mouse guesses through the window net.

I'm alone, singing at night with my lamp on my back.

Jiang Sushi lived for ten years and then died.

Never think, never forget.

A lonely grave thousands of miles away, desolate and nowhere to talk about.

Even if we don't know each other, our faces are dusty and our temples are frosty.

When night came, my dream suddenly came home.

Xiao Xuan window, get dressed.

Care for each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears

It is expected that every year there will be heartbroken, moonlit and short matsuoka.

Mourning poem Wang Shizhen sings fine grass on the stranger, and the fish scales wrinkle with the water.

Red beans in Jiangnan are bitter, and flowers bloom every year to remember you.

Nan Xiangzi's inscription on the female corpse shows that Nalan Xingde is silent in tears.