Who knows the ancient poems written by bamboo and women together?

Problem description:

It takes two days to paint this ancient poem.

Ancient poems written by bamboo and women together ~ ~ ~

Analysis:

Jia ren du fu

Who is cuter than her? However, she lives alone in an empty valley.

She told me that she came from a good family and now she is humble to the dust.

Guan Zhong lost yesterday, and her brothers and close relatives were killed.

What's the use of them in high positions, they can't even protect their own lives? .

The world is dismissive of adversity, and hope will go out like the light of a candle.

Her husband, with a wandering heart, is a new guy like jade.

When the morning glory is rolled up at night, the mandarin ducks lie side by side.

He can only see the smile of his new love, but he can't hear the cry of his old love.

The stream is pure at the source of the mountain, but its water turns dark far away from the mountain.

Wait for her maid to come back after selling pearls, and then she needs straw to build the roof.

She picked some flowers, not for her hair, but for letting pine needles fall from her fingers.

She forgot the thin silk sleeves and the cold, and leaned against a tall bamboo.

Wang Wei, a mountain autumn borer.

The empty mountains are bathed in a new rain, and feel the early autumn at night.

The bright moon shed clear light from the cracks and cleared the fountain on the rocks.

The bamboo forest is sonorous, the washerwoman returns, and the lotus leaves are swaying to get on the canoe.

Spring spring might as well give it a rest, and the autumn sun can stay on the hills for a long time.

Bagui Jiangkui

Lotus fragrance is falling, sparse tung blowing green, courtyard dark rain. There is no reason to embrace the shadow, but also see that the walls of Shinohara are dark and the steps of moss are cut. He bid farewell to Fujian and asked who played the water pipa. Unfortunately, it is a piece of land, which has always been paid to thrush.

Long hate each other never had to pay, now what's the matter, and farewell to the west wind. Cold and smoky, moving people far away, sailing like leaves. Miss Wen Jun for a long time, leaning on bamboo and worrying about life. After returning, Cui Zun took two sips, took off the bead curtain and looked at the moon delicately.

Jie Jiang, He Xinlang

Meng Han Golden House. She turned to the returning warbler and could recognize the old green marks on the screen. It is drizzling outside the window, and cherries and red beans are crystal clear and mellow. Do you know that this lovesickness is hard to reconcile? It's hard to say whether you know this kind of hatred, just like playing chess. The light reflected my thin figure, and the light of the candle was too bright.

Yuanyang clinks glasses and drinks upstairs, and the wine is poured into the wine. When will she meet again? When the palace eyebrows pass through the clouds, draw pictures. Painting Gong Mei as a moire, and painting her with raw silk, I'm afraid it's not a fashionable new dress. Colored fan singing and dancing, the tooth plate is now, only hate no one, can sing and dance all kinds of music to understand. Empty sleeves and tears, only relying on lonely cold bamboo!