The contents of the famous poems praising maternal love are as follows:

1. Gorky: All the glory and pride in the world come from the mother. Romain Rolland: Maternal love is a huge flame.

2. Dante: There is the most beautiful voice in the world, and that is the call of mother. Huang Jingren's "Farewell Old Mother": It's a miserable snowy night in Chaimen. It's better to have children than not to have children at this time.

3. Du Fu's "Shi Hao Li": There is a grandson who has not left, and her skirts are endless when she comes in and out. Li Shangyin's "Yaochi": Yaochi's mother Qi's window opened, and the singing of yellow bamboo moved the earth to mourn.

4. A loving mother loves her son not for retribution. Mother's love is a huge flame. Whoever speaks of an inch of grass will be rewarded with three rays of spring light. Don't be happy if you have children, don't be sad if you don't have children.

5. Polygonum is used by Curcuma and Artemisia is bandited. I feel sorry for my parents, who worked so hard to give birth to me. Polygonum is used by Curcuma, and Curcuma is bandited by Yiwei. I'm sorry for my parents, who made me exhausted.

6. The glorious wind comes from the south, blowing the thorny heart. The heart of the thorn is young, and the mother's family is tired. The glorious wind comes from the south and blows the thorny firewood. My mother is holy and kind, and I have no one to ask for. Is there a cold spring in love? Under the dredging. He has seven children, and his mother works hard. The yellow bird carries its sound. If you have seven children, don’t comfort your mother’s heart.

7. The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on the body of a wanderer. Before leaving, I was afraid of returning late. Whoever speaks of an inch of grass will be rewarded with three rays of spring light.

8. Hemerocallis grows on the steps of the hall, and wanderers travel to the ends of the world; the loving mother leans against the door of the hall, but no daylilies are seen. Bright daylily flowers grow under the North Hall. The south wind blows his heart, shaking it for whom? A loving mother leans on her door with love, but a wanderer's journey is painful. The sweet taste is sparse every day, and the sound is blocked every day. Looking up at the cloud forest, I feel ashamed to hear the words of the wise bird.