Meng Haoran looked for the owner of Chrysanthemum Pond but did not find him. When he arrived at Chrysanthemum Pond, the sun was already setting in the west of the village. The owner has gone up high, and the chickens and dogs are at home.
Li Bai will do it on September 10th. I climbed up yesterday and raised my wine glass today. Why is the chrysanthemum so bitter, suffering from these two double suns?
Cen Shen marched for nine days and thought about his hometown in Chang'an (when Chang'an was not yet taken in). He wanted to climb high, but no one brought him wine. The chrysanthemums that take pity on my hometown should bloom near the battlefield.
Wang Wei recalled the Shandong brothers on September 9th (when they were seventeen years old). They were strangers in a foreign land, and missed their relatives even more during the festive season. I know from afar that when my brothers climbed to a high place, there was only one less person planting dogwood trees.
Wang Zhihuan's Farewell in Nine Days Ji Ting is desolate and there are few old friends. Where can I climb high and see them off? Today I will drink Fangju wine for the time being, and tomorrow I will drink Duan Pengfei.
Bai Juyi's nine-day mailing slip. I picked chrysanthemums, took wine with me, and rode horses around the village to reflect. The ground in Guitian is as flat as the palm of your hand. How can you climb up to see Zizhou?
Bai Juyi went to the Yu Tower on March 3 to live in the 32nd house. He spent three days happily traveling around Qushui, and spent two years lying in Changsha in sorrow. Every time we climb high, the director recalls each other, not to mention that this building belongs to the Yu family.
Ten poems from the Song Dynasty by Gao Shi Climbing high to visit the old country, nostalgic for the past and the poor autumn. The setting sun is full of wild geese, and the cold city is filled with sorrow. The virtuous people of the past no longer exist, so don’t leave them behind when you are done.
Two Spring Poems by Zhang Yan The weeping willows sing and the oriole sings, and the gates are like asking for friends. The love of spring is unbearable, and I am worried about killing the woman in my boudoir. When you climb a tall building at dusk, who will pity the little drooping hands?