The poems with the theme of Chung Yeung are as follows:

1. Wang Wei's "Remembering the Brothers of Shandong on the Ninth Day of the 9th Moon" is a poem that says, "I am alone in a foreign land, and I think of my relatives twice as much at every festive season. I know from afar where my brothers are climbing up to the top of the mountain, and I'm not sure if I've ever seen a cornelian dogwood.

2. Du Fu's "Chrysanthemum Festival", "Chrysanthemum Festival", drinking wine alone in a cup, holding a sick window to the autumn colors. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get a good look at this. The people are tired of the pain in the south, and the geese are coming from the north.

4. Du Mu's "Chongyang Festival", "The maple on the riverside is yellow with chrysanthemums, and the old man is leaving the Yellow Crane Tower in the west". I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a good look at you, but I'm sure I'll be able to get a good look at you, too.

5. Wang Bo's "Chrysanthemum Sun Festival" is about a close friend in the sea and a faraway land in a distant land. The children of the world, the children of the world, the children of the world, the children of the world.

6. Li Bai's "Ascending to the Heights of the Chrysanthemum Sun" says that the wind is rushing, the apes are whistling, the islets are clear, the sand is white, and the birds are flying back. The falling trees are under the Xiaoxiao, and the Yangtze River is rolling in.

7, Su Shi "Chrysanthemum Night Talk", life everywhere know how to be like, should be like the flying Hong trampled snow mud. The mud occasionally left fingers and claws, the Hong fly that counts things.

8. Lu You's "A Gift to a Friend at the Chung Yeung Festival" says, "Life is easy to be old and hard to grow old, and there is a Chung Yeung Festival every year. The yellow flowers on the battlefield are very fragrant. The autumn wind is strong once a year, not like the spring light. It's like springtime, with ten thousand miles of frost in the sky of a lonely river.

9, Xin Qiji "Chongyang Festival Ascension", do not laugh at the farmhouse wax wine muddy, a good year to stay guests enough chicken and dolphin. The mountains are heavy and there is no way out, but there is another village in the darkness. The pipes and drums follow the spring society, and the ancient style of simple and simple clothing exists. From now on, if you are free to ride the moon, the crutches no time to knock on the door at night.

10. Wang Zhilu's "Farewell at the Chung Yeung Festival", "The Yellow River is far away from the white clouds, and a lone city is ten thousand ren mountains. The Qiang flute has no need to complain about the willow, and the spring breeze does not pass through the Jade Gate.

11. Du Mu's "Ascending Qishan Mountain on the Ninth Day" (九日齐山登高), in which the geese first flew in the autumn shadow of the river, and the guest carried a pot up to Cuiwei. It is difficult to meet the world to open the mouth to laugh, chrysanthemums must be inserted full head return. But I'll be drunk to honor the festivities, and I don't need to climb up to the mountain to hate the falling sunshine. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it, and I'll be able to do it.

12. Bai Juyi's "White Chrysanthemums at the Chrysanthemum Festival" is full of chrysanthemums, and there is a lone clump of chrysanthemums that looks like frost. I'm not sure if it's a good idea for me to be a part of it, but I'm sure it's a good idea for me to be a part of it.

13. Gao Shi's "Chrysanthemums," which was written at the time of the festival, was a thrill for the two sideburns, and he recited a new line with a thousand tears in his voice. I'm not going to ask anyone, but I'm going to give the Cornus to my hometown.

14, Xu Zhao "nine days of Huai Di", festival Ming Dynasty early September, dogwood red leaves reflect the clear stream. I'm not sure what I'm talking about, but I'd like to remember this part of my family's tour.

15. Du Fu's "Remembering My Brother on the Ninth Day", "Last year I climbed up to the northern part of the name of the county, and today I am at the bank of the Fulcrum River. The bitter white hair is not put together, shy to see the yellow flowers countless new. The world is in turmoil for a long time as a guest, the road is difficult to stretch out when long. A hundred years of songs and cries *** know the heart, ten thousand miles of sadness and joy for the time being because of each other. The poem is sent far away from the sad guest, climbed high and called out to the people in the clothes. The north looks at the flypast without a shadow, the east relocated Zigui empty broken soul.