What are the famous poems in Tang Bohu?

"Song of the Peach Blossom Temple" [Ming] The Peach Blossom Temple in Taohuawu, Tang Yin, is where the Peach Blossom Fairy lives. Peach Fairy cultivates peach trees, picks them and drinks them. When you wake up, you just sit in front of the flowers, and when you are drunk, you come to sleep under the flowers. Half drunk and half awake day after day, flowers bloom year after year. I hope I die of old age. I don't want to bow my head in front of horses and chariots. Car dust and clues show things, and wine is hidden in snuff. If the revealer is compared to a hermit, one is underground and the other is in heaven. If we compare Hua San to horses and chariots, I will have no leisure. Others laugh at me for being crazy, and I laugh at others for not being able to see through it. There are no graves of Hao Jie in Wuling, no flowers, no wine, and no hoes to plow the fields. "Poem of Falling Flowers" destroyed ten spring in an instant, and the garden was washed away with wealth. I would like to ask the shepherd boy to set up wine and try plums, kind man. If Hua Dan is bullied by Rouwu, it is hard to guarantee that Yu Xiang will laugh at the tree god. Looking forward to green shoes, everyone is a sleeper when they are tall. The setting sun is dark, the flute is long, and the spring breeze is turning again. Accuse of going to the North Pole, rouge waste. Pour three feet of rain mud and embroider half a hook around the tree. The dreamy color adds to the sadness in the mirror. The spring breeze is 150 minutes, and there are no flowers. The new wine is about to pour green into the cup, but the faded face has turned into a mirror. If you can't see the rafters stealing incense, you will become a stinker. In this way, the trees and tears withered. When the silkworm is busy at dawn, the bonus is like a flower. Cold food spring seems to have no owner, and the butterfly flying next door is private. Even if money accumulates Beidou, it is difficult to bury stones in the wind and rain. A wisp of smoke sticks to your temples when you sleep in the bed. Sit and watch wheatgrass bored and coquettish. My honey is ripe, fragrant, sticky and white, and Liang Yan's nest is wet and red. The country is very beautiful, and it is pitiful. Why is the glass not empty? Endure to see the clues under the wheels and fly west and east. Cui Huikong wrote the truth in the mirror, but it was difficult to convey the spirit in Luoshui. National color comes naturally, life is thin, and peach is in spring. There is no brocade account around Jingu, and the green shoes are dusty. One hundred times around the tree, who will be next year? The sky is blue and the clouds are horizontal, and the country garden is purple. Peach leaves are uneven, apricot flowers are scattered. Dogs barked in the moonlight in the middle of the night, and the whole city was raining. If people don't come back and spring is gone, who will sing with them? Flowers weeping willows make it clear, and duckweed with purple back is good. In March, I asked Fang to ride a phoenix couple, and I sang along for a while. Turn off the lights, the courtyard hurts the birds, and the terrace is wet. Mo Wen Dong Jun complained of injustice, and his spontaneous sexual dreams were not clear. What happened in the spring dynasty was silent, and the court was surprised to see that Lou had taken shape. Tears fly slightly and eyes are long. When a book has no intention of being lonely and angry, it has nothing to do with it. And I'm glad the remnants are still there, so that I can repair the bamboo and report peace. Peach blossoms are empty and open and close almost every year; Since it is the end of March, there is no need for people to hate even winds. On the eaves, the curtains are broken and the building is like a bully; Pick it up and put it in Paris for Luo, a pair of mandarin ducks. I am very sad and worried. The flowers are scattered and the temple is added. Zhou Gaiyan speaks of spring in March, and the ripples are half curtain. Sick wine can't bear to turn to drama, listen to the wind and steer, and like to be late. Red hands are painted on the moss in the green Yang Ying for the pity of the disabled. The first half of Yangliulou is regular, and it is late at night in the music theater. It is difficult to grow flowers when burning, but Tintin won't be late when he leaks rain. The golden string sleeve cage is new and slippery, and the emerald eyebrows are drooping. How worried you are about your amorous feelings, you can tell who you are worried about. Li Taihou catching up, Peng Feiping turned around and was at a loss. I am haggard and tired, and I am full of mirror worries in March. It is better to die than to leave a sleeping shoe. The beautiful spring tree is not yesterday, the grass is empty and buried in a mound. Apricot petals and peaches must be swept in piles, and youth and white hair feel decadent. The listing of clams is surprising, and clams teach people to wash cups. Endure to sing hymns to send off the spring, and regret to urge Jie Gu thoroughly. If business is not good enough to make money, I will be old, and I won't know if it will be bad until next year. You don't have to boast about it, and once you look down on Yi's family. Zhao Jun favored Mao Yanshou, but Yang-ti couldn't keep Zhang Lihua. The juvenile in the deep courtyard is self-locked, and the levee is bright and red. Small bridges and flowing water are idle villages, but there are no dogs and frogs. Full house laughter and strong company, don't worry about nine times a day. Season again surprised Liang Yan milk, China helpless gorge colt rush. Sweet clothes hurt the waist and thin, and Liaoyang has no news. At dusk, the door is full of flowers, and the cow is crisp and recommends the cup in the palm. At the Elk Terrace on the edge of Yazi City, the situation in spring is gradually relaxed. Clothes are like jade, and the rain pushes the window of the wine account. Peach blossoms bear fruit like rain, carrying female butterflies over the wall. There are many leisure pavilions in the south of the Yangtze River, and Zhuhu Lake is still locked with moss. Xie Chunrong, a peach and a plum, fights with the night. On the stranger, the new dimming, the wall is full of jade plates. There is no trace in qinglian lane, and the embroidered waist feels fine. There is no need to be ruthless, because my generation is in love. When the cluster is in existence, the lonely music bar is flooded. For thousands of years, the Qing tombs complained about emptiness, and Du Xuan only wrote poems. Incense chasing horseshoes to ants, shadows and insect arms to spider silk. After searching for incense, I found the debt for the New Year and saw the branches full of songs. Wheatgrass is grateful for the Chinese New Year, and it can be today without eight fights. * I was wrong to vote for the national color, and the fate was light, and I met the gold master. Cuckoo cries blood in the middle of the night, and butterfly wanders to the bottom of the tree in spring. Color is empty, color is empty, I want to adjust my greed and anger. The beautiful face and thin life are in a dilemma, and Yingying's presbyopia has been ruined by the world. Older Lu Ji is worried about marrying late, and the yellow bird is called spring sleep. Life is seventy years old, and fighting for wine is 1000. Regret that it was too late to light a silver candle to cover the boat. When flowers bloom, it will always be spring. Don't be envious or angry when flowers bloom. Know that the grass skull tomb is the person who hides his face in the red chamber. Samby has taught Hugh to pan-wax, and firewood trains no longer need towels. Fairy dust and Buddha rob each other, and it goes without saying that the toilet bacteria have fallen down. Chai Men is short in ploughing, and the pheasant grass garden is in spearmint. Xizi returned to the lake and dug a well. Zhaojun left the village. The spring phoenix courtyard is closed in a deep cage, and it is drizzling. Pick up the residual red, throw it away, and teach it to stick to Ashan. Banana wine is full of sleeve marks, and I cherish jade. Pity the trees singing in the wind outside the window, and live up to the bright moon and porch. If you throw yourself into a well, you will die, and if you fall, you will thank the Lord. Grass grows in Cheung Chau at dusk, and the river is full of ghosts. Shrike flies eastward to Yan Xi, and Wang Sun of Nanpu complains about getting lost. Birds call spring break, and rain makes flowers cry to the corner. Maoyuan shade closed string tube, long lock the door during the day. In butterfly's dream, the music bar is full of memories. Green shoes, cloth socks, thank you for traveling together, and the pink butterfly wasp cares for each other. When you are old, your feelings will change and you will not rest until you die. There is no long-term plan in the sun and the moon, and there is near sorrow in the wine. A mountain is fragrant and silent in spring, and a blue cloud is separated from the red building. Spring comes in a hurry, dazzling and prosperous, apricot shirts are warm at the beginning, and pear flowers in the deep courtyard hate windy. Sitting on the lamp all night, thinking about wine is reddish. If Dong Jun asks fish and geese, his mood is in the rain. Wu Jiaoqi spring city, skillfully make the east wind shake the ground. Lights shine on the eaves, flowers bloom and fall, and crows are still surprised to live in trees. Beauty is not for the heart of the piano, but for the sake of wine. Quietly compare yourself with the mirror, and the mane is another year. In the dream of spring, the geese are shadowed, and the mud is a foot in front of the horseshoe. It's hard to pour grey wine into a new love, only the sweet bag is pitiful. Deep courtyard material should be like flowers, Nagato worry about locking the sky like years. Who is right, but idle peaches and plums, saying it is on the verge of sadness and joy. Flowers float with the wind, and spring leaves me like a legacy. Five views fly around the Wuxia Gorge, and nine floors evoke spirits and fly to Chu Ci. There is no past when you are old, and there is glory when you are withered. And the poem is thirty years old, who knows that the spring breeze is heartbroken? I am ashamed of "drinking wine to the moon". Although I don't have Li Baicai, I don't think I am ugly. I don't board the emperor's ship, I can't sleep well; There is a hut outside Gusu City, with ten thousand peach blossoms all over the sky.