What are the poems mourning the death of his wife?

The poem mourning the death of his wife is as follows:

1, mourning poem.

Wei and Jin Dynasties: Pan An.

As time goes by, winter and spring drift away, and cold and heat suddenly flow easily.

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

Who wants to obey privately, staying for a long time is no good.

I am ready to serve my life and return to my original service.

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

There is no beard on the screen, but there are traces in calligraphy.

The fragrance has not stopped, and the legacy is still on the wall.

Disappointment seems to exist, and it is difficult to rush back.

Like a bird in Hanlin forest, it only lives once.

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

The spring breeze is coming, and the morning light is slightly dew.

When you forget to sleep, your troubles will accumulate day by day.

When you are weak, you can still attack.

2. "Jiang dreams on the twentieth day of the first month."

Song Dynasty: Su Shi.

Ten years of life and death are two boundless, unforgettable without thinking. Thousands of miles away in a lonely grave, there is nowhere to talk about desolation. Even if you don't know when to meet, your face is covered with dust and your temples are like frost.

At night, I suddenly dreamed of going home, and the window of Xiao Xuan was being decorated. Care for each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the heartbroken place, moonlit night and short pine hill will be held every year.

3. Little Red Lip.

A flying moth's eyebrow is better than a winding one.

Yu Lang is not old, why are you already sad?

The plain wall shines obliquely, and the bamboo shadow sweeps the window.

The empty room was quiet, the crow was about to dawn, and I went down to the west building again.

4. Linjiang Xian.

A little banana heart will be broken, and the sound reminds me of the beginning.

I want to sleep and read old books.

Yuanyang small print, remember those unfamiliar hands.

Tired eyes are low and confused, half blurred.

The cold rain in front of the window makes Yi Deng lonely.