The classical-style sentences I have accumulated

Chrysanthemums by the threshold grieve in the mist, orchids weep in the dew. The gauze curtains are lightly cold, and swallows fly away in pairs. The bright moon does not understand the bitterness of parting, its slanting light reaches dawn, piercing the red doors. Last night the west wind withered the green trees. I alone ascend the high tower, gazing at the endless roads to the horizon. I wish to send a colorful letter along with a note, but the mountains are long and the waters wide, who knows where it should go?

Ten years of life and death, two vast emptinesses; without thinking about it, it is naturally hard to forget. A lonely grave a thousand miles away, with no place to speak of the desolation. Even if we were to meet, we would probably not recognize each other, dust on the face, hair like frost. At night, in a quiet dream, I suddenly return home; at the small, open window, you are dressing. We look at each other without a word, only tears flowing in thousands of lines. I can predict the place where my heart will break year after year, on a night of bright moonlight, at the short pine hill.

Su Dongpo has poems!

A melody of the zither trembles, the joys and sorrows of the mundane world part and reunite. Offering a trace of weariness, my sleeves are filled with a subtle fragrance, erasing worldly emotions without a trace. Through my fingers flows a lifetime of prosperity, playing through a tune of romantic sorrow. Holding a bright moon, carrying a wisp of gentle wind, traveling through a thousand years of dust and smoke. Loneliness, delicate fingers slide through the sorrows of the soul, so much deep affection remains unfinished. So many tears and laughter soar; suddenly looking back, it feels like a fleeting dream, pouring all my tenderness and poetry into a lifetime, yet in that wistful glance back, I have already lost you.

A poem by Xin Qiji:
The Chu sky stretches a thousand miles in crisp autumn, the waters follow the skies as autumn knows no bounds.
Distant peaks and far-off views, offering sorrow and grievances, jade hairpins and snail-shaped buns.
At sunset atop the tower, amidst the cries of departing geese, a traveler of Jiangnan.
Looking at the Wu dagger, beating the railings all around,
No one understands the intention of climbing high.
Do not speak of perch fit for sashimi,
All the west wind blows, has Ji Ying returned yet?
Asking about fields and houses, afraid to see Liu Lang's talent,
Alas, fleeting years, worries and storms, even the trees remain so!
Who can be summoned to call for the red scarf and green sleeves,
To wipe the tears of a hero!

Li Houzhu's: The willow branches show the charm of wind but slowly age, revealing spring's modesty; Everywhere fragrant spirits recall old wanderings; Many thanks to the long branches that seem familiar, Forcibly swaying smoke-like tassels brush people's heads. Qing Ping Yue: Since parting, spring is halfway, and all that meets the eye breaks one's tender heart. Fallen plum blossoms descend by the steps like chaotic snow, Brushing off brings them still covering my whole body. No news from the returning geese, The distant road makes dreams of return hard to fulfill. Parting sorrow is just like spring grass, The further it grows, the more it lives again. Playing for Master Ruan, presenting to the twelfth brother of King Zheng: The east wind blows across the water, the sun touches the mountains; Spring always comes leisurely. Flowers fall scattered after wine ends, amid flutes and songs of drunken dreams. The sound of the pendant is quiet, evening makeup fades, Who cares to adjust the green hairpin? Reluctantly cherishing the time, greedy for red cheeks, Leaning alone on the balustrade at dusk. Cai Sang Zi: In front of the pavilion, spring chases the red blossoms to the end, Her dance pauses lingering. Fine rain drizzles, not letting the brows open even for a moment. Calm by the green window, the fragrant music cuts off, The scent stamp turns to ashes. What can be done with the heart, wanting to sleep as haze leads into dreams. Dao Lian Zi: In the deep court all is quiet, the small yard empty, The intermittent cold pestle, the intermittent wind. Helplessly, the night is long, people cannot sleep, Several sounds harmonizing with the moon reach the window. Dao Lian Zi: Cloud-like hair in disarray, evening makeup faded, With resentful brows clustered on distant peaks. Leaning the fragrant cheek obliquely, tender as spring bamboo shoots, For whom do I weep while leaning on the railing? San Tai Ling: Cannot sleep, tired of the long watch, Putting on clothes to step out. The moon is cold, autumn bamboo chill, the wind cuts the night window sounds. Cai Sang Zi: The well crank, the golden phoenix tree late, A few trees startled by autumn. Daytime rain brings new sorrow, Hundreds of feet of tiny shrimp whiskers hang on the jade hook. Spring breaks at the jade windows, the twin brows crease, Turning to look toward the edge, wanting to send the scales to roam, Nine winding cold waves do not follow the flow. Long longing: One mountain, two mountains, The mountains are distant, the sky high, the smoke and waters cold, Longing for crimson maple leaves. Chrysanthemum blooms, chrysanthemum fades, The frontier geese fly high, the person has not returned, A curtain of wind and moon is idle.

Well done, OP, sending you a flower