Langtaosha (written by Chen)
I remember last year. Picking chrysanthemums on the east fence. A smile on the brow and a flower branch. He said that he wished he would never grow old like a flower, and gave him advice. It’s the chrysanthemum period again. Who knows the guest situation. Even if there is no wind and rain, it will be miserable. When a white-haired couple drinks wine during the season, their appearance is mixed.
Shui Tiao Ge Tou (Cao Yu)
Creation is clever and endows, and the flowering period of the new year is announced. Jiangmei is thin, just white and beautiful. I want to surpass you and surpass others, so I follow the example of the immortal family and multiply apricots, and the brightly reflected horizontal branches are reflected in the fields. The red powder is greasy and fragrant on the face, and the wine is dizzy on the ice-cold skin. In the Yutang, beside the mountain post, it is the most strange place. Who will cage jade with crimson wax and dye rouge with fragrant snow? It's good to go to the singing stage and dance on the pavilion, fight for the charming face with red makeup, and cuddle up to the rhyme. Don't blow the Qiang pipe, the wind and the moon know each other.
Nine Days Qujiang (Du Fu)
The seats are decorated with dogwood trees, but the leaves on the floating boats are weak. At the end of the season in autumn, I feel half lustful, and on the ninth day I feel sad.
The river flows from its clear source, but the road to Jingmen is doubtful. Come late and be happy, swinging in the chrysanthemum stage.
Xia Di Tou Zhi Zhi (Du Xunhe)
If it is a famous place, who doesn’t have a poem? Even if you have gray hair, how can you dare to complain about the bright future?
Although we are close friends, we may not be selfish. I would rather teach you to read than to read the flowering period.
Two poems about the other side of the mirror (one is about Leisurely Living on the West Island of Jinghu Lake) (Fang Qian)
The cold mountains press the heart of the mirror, this is the family forest. Liang Yan glimpses spring drunkenness, and Yan Yuan learns to chant at night.
The clouds rise from the ground, and the moon sinks towards the white waves. I still hear the bell horn, and I can live in the depths.
If the world doesn’t tolerate it, I will let myself live in despair. The fallen leaves are swept by the wind, and the fragrant rice is churned by the beautiful water.
It’s foggy even during the flowering season, and it’s a bell across the lake on a snowy night. If you are unable to do anything outside your body, your head should be white on this peak.