Push open the door of June, and you will see summer. Under the clear sky, even the dream umbrella opens like an umbrella. In every long vein and short vein, there is a shameful conspiracy.
In the square pond half an acre deep, the woman picking lotus is sitting on a lotus, watching the sun blowing in layers of worries. The wind stretched out its elegant hand, but didn't catch her green skirt.
Whose face is more beautiful than the hibiscus blooming in the swaying dance? There is a thin bird trapped in the water of acacia. The music stopped. Love is a weed that overflows the banks of the season.
Are you the most touching of thousands of lotus flowers? Every lingering eye can't escape the temptation of your green sleeves. That afternoon, every petal of your shyness burned into a lock of pink. Looking back, a graceful figure suddenly flashed into the lotus pond and disappeared.
Under the background of lotus movement, some things of one kind or another are doomed quietly! Out of sight, another burst of singing, along the flute hole of a water lily, stepping over the high and low lotus leaves, round by round, engraved into thrilling memories.
That day, the sky was blue, the clouds were white and the water was clear.
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The girl who picked the lotus put the girl who picked the lotus into the lotus leaf, as if the color was the same, and the girl's face was hidden in the blooming lotus, which reflected each other. Lotus is mixed in the lotus pond, and it is difficult to recognize the lotus pond. Only when you hear the song do you know that someone is picking lotus in the pond-picking lotus. -Wang Changling's "Lotus Song" Lotus Inn and Xin Jian (Zeng Dong) leave the Tang poem sketch
The wind continued to blow. Is the rain a tear that didn't come out last night? Bit by bit, let a broken and broken heart, still cold, still can not find a trace of warmth and comfort. The misty rain on the river is as hazy as the mood, and all the scenery is shrouded in sadness. In the lonely land of martial arts, I don't know that they stayed up all night, and Yi Deng stayed up all night.
It's getting darker and brighter. Two oil-paper umbrellas stood downstairs in Furong for a long time. Rain is some reminders that are constantly being cut and kept in chaos, which crosses the heart in disorder and moistens all parting feelings. This morning, two birds perched on the tree sadly and forgot to fly.
And Chushan alone, will it be a post to look back? Your graceful figure is drifting away, and the wind and rain have drowned your lonely journey.
Luoyang is a distant dream! The fireworks of life, ups and downs, have become memories. Is the shadow facing the door mom or dad? All the passing faces were crushed by the wheels of years, leaving only a choked and affectionate greeting.
Please tell my hometown: No matter how things change, I am a crystal clear ice heart, still in a crystal clear empty jade pot, pure and sincere, and I will never change my true colors!
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Misty rain enveloped Wu's day overnight; Send you in the morning, lonely and sad in Chushan! Friends, if my friends in Luoyang invite me; Just say I'm still Bing Xin Okho, and stick to my faith! -Wang Changling "Breaking up with Xin Jian at Furong Inn"
Zhong Nanshan (Zeng Dong), a short piece of Tang poetry
The first discovery was not only the eagle, but also the Zhongnanshan Mountain. On the way to the sunshine, the steps are backward, and the trestle of heaven rests on the shoulders of the peaks. The continuous mountains are a group of unruly horses, rushing eastward, and finally resting gently in front of the sea.
Looking back, the white clouds are like some ethereal dreams, wandering back and forth on the mountainside. The wind in a bad mood grabbed a piece without pity and tore it into pieces bit by bit. The sun is naked. Take out the needle and thread of the sun and sew it carefully.
It's green like some distant past, and it's so wet that I just want to take it out to dry, but it's covered by a thin layer of clouds. The Woods are a little hazy; The mountain peak is a bit hazy; The mountain stream is hidden behind the sound, tinkling and transparent; Flowers penetrate the green dew and scatter; The birds' songs disappear in the depths of time. Standing on the narrow top of the mountain, there is a life on the left and a life on the right. Looking around, the mountains are divided and combined, towering. In thousands of rocks and valleys, sunshine is like a group of hide-and-seek children, sometimes absent, deep or shallow. The wind and rain in the four seasons are concentrated on the surface of a leaf.
The road disappeared into the distant scenery. Under which white cloud, there will be a warm Chai Fei waiting for a day's fatigue? A mountain is empty.
Suddenly, across the deep stream, there was a crunchy sound. The woodcutter's posture of chopping wood is the most vivid annotation of dusk. The poet couldn't help shaking hands and asking questions excitedly. The woodcutter held out his hand and pointed to the distance. I looked up and saw a pile of smoke from the kitchen, which had crossed the hill.
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-its huge height is close to the city of heaven, from the mountain to the corner of the sea. The white clouds merged behind, and the blue mist melted into the mountains and disappeared.
The central mountain peaks separate the southwest, and the valleys are different. Want to find a house to live in the mountains, is it convenient for the water guide to ask the woodcutter? -Wang Wei's Zhong Nanshan
Tang Poem "Zhuliguan" (Zeng Dong)
The wind stopped quietly on the leaves, and the night opened its eyes. Dense bamboo forest is a deeper sea than the sky. Are the stars drowning fish? No matter how hard you flap your wings, you can't escape this lonely water. A person, sitting alone in a corner of time, the darkness drowned his dream.
Suddenly, all the silence broke into ripples. The player plays the piano with his fingers fluttering and sliding over the vocal cords of each string. The raindrops of nature, such as some high and low languages, fall into the river of memory. A bird awakened by music flew out of the nest and picked up a poem.
Deep in the forest, the noise of the world is far away. No one knows that there is a quiet land that can bring up the glitz of the years. Tonight, the man with the piano disc witnessed the setting of the sun.
The moon has risen. The wound of the night shook off some cold light on the palm of the earth. The piano stopped, the birds slept, the flowers opened, and the wind quietly spread its transparent wings. A person, sitting alone in his own shadow, enjoying himself. Thousands of years of moonlight have illuminated the road of life.
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I leaned alone in the dense bamboo, playing the pipa and humming a song. It's too light for anyone to hear, except my partner, Mingyue. -Wang Wei's bamboo house
Standing on the narrow top of the mountain, there is a life on the left and a life on the right. Looking around, the mountains are divided and combined, towering. In thousands of rocks and valleys, sunshine is like a group of hide-and-seek children, sometimes absent, deep or shallow. The wind and rain in the four seasons are concentrated on the surface of a leaf.
The road disappeared into the distant scenery. Under which white cloud, there will be a warm Chai Fei waiting for a day's fatigue? A mountain is empty.
Suddenly, across the deep stream, there was a crunchy sound. The woodcutter's posture of chopping wood is the most vivid annotation of dusk. The poet couldn't help shaking hands and asking questions excitedly. The woodcutter held out his hand and pointed to the distance. I looked up and saw a pile of smoke from the kitchen, which had crossed the hill.
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-its huge height is close to the city of heaven, from the mountain to the corner of the sea. The white clouds merged behind, and the blue mist melted into the mountains and disappeared.
The central mountain peaks separate the southwest, and the valleys are different. Want to find a house to live in the mountains, is it convenient for the water guide to ask the woodcutter? -Wang Wei's "Zhong Nanshan" Tang poetry essay "Zhuliguan" (Zeng Dong)
The wind stopped quietly on the leaves, and the night opened its eyes. Dense bamboo forest is a deeper sea than the sky. Are the stars drowning fish? No matter how hard you flap your wings, you can't escape this lonely water. A person, sitting alone in a corner of time, the darkness drowned his dream.
Suddenly, all the silence broke into ripples. The player plays the piano with his fingers fluttering and sliding over the vocal cords of each string. The raindrops of nature, such as some high and low languages, fall into the river of memory. A bird awakened by music flew out of the nest and picked up a poem.
Deep in the forest, the noise of the world is far away. No one knows that there is a quiet land that can bring up the glitz of the years. Tonight, the man with the piano disc witnessed the setting of the sun.
The moon has risen. The wound of the night shook off some cold light on the palm of the earth. The piano stopped, the birds slept, the flowers opened, and the wind quietly spread its transparent wings. A person, sitting alone in his own shadow, enjoying himself. Thousands of years of moonlight have illuminated the road of life.
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I leaned alone in the dense bamboo, playing the pipa and humming a song. It's too light for anyone to hear, except my partner, Mingyue. -Wang Wei's bamboo house
Tang Poem "Jiangnan" (Zeng Dong)
A night rain.
In Jiangnan, another day was washed clean, starting with a crisp bird song.
The sun quietly brushed away the clothes of the morning mist and sat quietly on a thin lotus leaf. The breeze reached into the dense lotus bushes, grabbed a slender stem and shook it gently. Some crystal drops fell into the clear palm of the lotus pond.
At this time, a few faint songs came gracefully along a village road. The ship that had been moored all night crushed a pool of peace. A narrow boat, a boy boating, a girl picking lotus ... This summer, there are bound to be some long or short stories circulating in the lotus pond in the south of the Yangtze River.
Under the lotus leaf, two small fish-two small fish from small to large-are playing freely. The fireworks seem to be far away from them. A few white clouds hurried through the pond, but they still couldn't disturb their happy life. They snuggled up to each other, came under the lotus leaf in the east, and chased them to the west and south. Tired, they both swam to the north shore, lay in the shadow of a lotus leaf, looked at each other quietly, and then hugged each other for a rest.
In Jiangnan, the little fish in two fairy tales wandered in the waves of love all their lives, letting the lotus pickers see all the beauty in the world.
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Lotus can be picked in Jiangnan, so there is no lotus leaf. Fish are frolicking among the lotus leaves. Fish hits the lotus leaf, and fish hits the lotus leaf. Fish hit the south of the lotus leaf, fish hit the north of the lotus leaf.
-Han Yuefu's Jiangnan
Sketch of Fisherman in Tang Poetry (Zeng Dong)
In front of Mount Cisse, egrets fly freely, plump mandarin fish swim happily on the river, and peaches floating on the water are so bright and full.
An old man in the bank, wearing a green bamboo hat raincoat and a green raincoat, braved the wind and rain and fished leisurely. He was fascinated by the beautiful spring scenery and didn't even go home in the rain.
-Zhang "Fishing Songs"
Spring has arrived in the south of the Yangtze River. The sound of rain drifted far away, and Mount Cisse was hidden in a deeper background. A line of egrets acted as a few clever strokes in this still life painting, and pure feathers, like snow, polished people's dim eyes.
Peach blossoms are everywhere on the river. Is it a poem written by the season for running water? Every petal is a beautiful and beautiful word.
Siniperca chuatsi jumped out of the water from time to time, its fat body quivered, turned around and plunged into the transparent water, leaving only a few shallow ripples. Does it also want to read this spring poem?
In the corner of the line of sight, a tattered raft was moored on the calm river. At the bow, a poet wearing a green bamboo hat and green hemp fiber is holding a fishing rod without bait, with his eyes closed slightly and thoughtfully. In fact, what he caught was not a fish, but a free life.
With light and delicate hands, the wind weaves a light green carpet for Jiangnan through the drizzle.
I really want to be a free bird. From now on, I will live in that small tree on the shore and never come back.
Tang Poetry Essay, Mu Jiangyin (Zeng Dong)
A sunset gradually sank into the river, half green and half green.
The loveliest thing is the ninth day of September. The bright pearl's bright crescent moon is shaped like a bow. ?
-Bai Juyi's "Mu Jiang Yin"
In the evening, the sun easily opened its round body and jumped into the water to wash away the fatigue of the day. The urchin, who knew nothing about water, sprinkled the last rays of light all over the water and slowly sank.
It was quiet around, and no one paid attention to the performance of a tragedy. The river is blown by the cool wind, half of it is green, like a jade with waves; Half of it is red, like a cloud immersed in water.
Darkness finally enveloped the sky. In the distance, the faint Gui Xiang is like some sounds, floating outside the hearing.
Autumn on September 3, this lovely night, under the illumination of a fishing lamp, is warm and beautiful.
The moon climbed out of the mountain with a slender bow. Dewdrops glistened like pearls and hung on the tip of the shore. Is it the star that the moon shot down from the sky?
A breeze blew, and Ma Pingchuan was covered with trees.
Poem Wei Cheng Qu (Zeng Dong)
The rain in the early morning moistened the dust of the land, the inn of the inn, the branches and leaves of the inn, and a new leaf
Sincerely advise friends to drink a glass of wine, and it is difficult to meet their loved ones when they go out to Yang Guan in the west.
-Wang Wei's "Cheng Wei Qu"
In the morning, it was raining in Mao Mao. In the northwest of Chang 'an, on the north bank of Weihe River, beside the ancient road in the town, the flying dust finally quieted down. Only the poet's mood was wet by this unexpected rain.
Liu Xin are some green eyelashes, which are all over the hotel. Every long branch is decorated with a crystal tear. Time is like water, hitting the fast and happy years. The past is getting closer and clearer. ? Zuiyan hazy, lift the glass full of wine. From now on, I really don't know what kind of day it will be. I wonder if I can still enjoy drinking and singing poems with you.
Going west out of Yangguan is an endless Gobi, an ethereal future. Perhaps, in this life, it is hard to see my former friends and the Acropolis full of feelings and thoughts, as well as the guest house in the shade and the willow dancing gently in the breeze.
Thought of here, the poet could not help but shed sad tears. ?
Sketch of Tang Poetry Passing through Ji Xiang Temple (Zeng Dong)
I don't know where Ji Xiang Temple is, so I climbed several miles into the clouds and peaks.
Ancient trees are towering, but there are no pedestrian paths, and there are bells in the mountains in the temple.
The spring water in the mountains hits the dangerous rocks, and the sun in the pine forest is cold.
In the evening, come to the empty pool and meditate quietly to suppress the dragon.
-Wang Wei's Crossing Ji Xiang Temple
White clouds are flowing scenery, which can be seen everywhere when walking on distant mountains. At first glance, the mountain peaks are like several floating islands, looming. Perhaps, Ji Xiang Temple is a boat. In which cloud does it sit quietly?
The path into the mountain is collected by a thick layer of fallen leaves, as if people no longer think of the hopes and dreams it once carried; Only those old trees, with thin hands, cling to the wind and rain left by the years. At this time, some faint bells spread around the poet through the gap between leaves and time. The poet stopped to listen, but didn't say where it came from.
Spring water, like indigestion intestines, painfully walks through rugged rocks, and the sound of sadness is endless; Sunlight is tired of all this, ready to pack up and go home, leaving only a little dim light to smear on the deep pine forest.
The thin twilight came from all directions, and the night quietly opened its eyes. The poet finally saw the fragrant Ji Xiang Temple, the quiet water in front of the temple and the silent shadow in the water.
Think about the dragon surrendered by the monk, think about the endless desires in the world, and only by converting to Buddhism can we forget the romantic affairs in the world! The poet couldn't help sighing lightly. Chai Lu (Zeng Dong), a short piece of Tang poetry
No one can be seen in the silent valley, only the voice is heard.
The shadow of the sunset shone into the depths of the forest, and the scenery on the moss was pleasant. (Wang Wei)
Everything seems to be quiet and the birds have stopped flying. Mountains are as ethereal as Zen. A faint layer of kitchen smoke made a tulle coat of the mountain. Farmers have already returned home with firewood, silently experiencing the joy of life in a simple meal, and no one has noticed the poetic dusk.
At this time, some very light words, through the palm of the leaves, fell around the mountain, very close and far away.
As if the voice from heaven awakened expectations and dreams. The sun lay quietly on the hill and slowly slid to the horizon. Golden light walks into the jungle, illuminating every layer of fallen leaves and those blurred past events. Moss suddenly turned green in the air in the last afterglow. Perhaps, tomorrow's sunshine will become more delicious. The poet stood in front of a thatched cottage in Chai Lu and looked up.
Tang Poems, Wandering Poems (Zeng Dong)
The mother used the needle and thread in her hand to make clothes for her long-distance son. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. Who can say that a filial child like the weak can repay his mother's love like the sunshine in spring? (Meng Jiao)
Mother turned on the dim oil lamp, and the warmth suddenly filled the humble room.
In the light, mother trembled and aimed at the eye of the needle again. Over and over again, over and over again. In this way, my mother used that thin line and long line to string up one difficult day after another. Every needle has been carefully studied; Every line is full of affection. Looking at my mother's face with silver hair divided into gullies by the wind and rain of the years, tears can't help overflowing my tender cheeks.
After sewing, my mother was more satisfied than trying, so she put it on and buckled it for me, just like a seed to be sown. My mother sobbed and patted me on the shoulder with trembling hands: "Remember the way home, son ..."
I know, I am a native grass, a simple grass in spring. My mother's sunny eyes covered my life.
No matter how far I drift, the oil lamp in the dark will always be the only direction and concern in my life.
This life, I-I get it. Qingming Sketch of Tang Poetry (Zeng Dong)
Mourning day, drizzle like tears; Pedestrians on the road want to die. Ask local people where to buy wine? The shepherd boy just laughed and didn't answer Xingshan Village. (Du Mu)
Maybe in March, maybe in April, in Jiangnan.
Rain, like a chattering old man, spilled some swirling languages into every corner of the mountain village. On a country road, a thoughtful poet with an oil-paper umbrella was awakened by a few fallen flowers.
People in Dai Li, after a winter of idleness, began to drag their muddy feet to work in a hurry. Are their melancholy expressions because of this drizzle, or are they worried about another uncertain harvest? It's not easy to live! Looking at the gradually blurred figure, the poet sighed unconsciously.
In the distant shade, a shepherd boy, riding on the back of an ox, played the willow flute. Intermittent notes gently drip on green leaves and grass, just like some transparent and naive dreams.
The poet quickly leaned in and asked affectionately, "Son, is there a restaurant near here?"
The boy held the whip hand and pointed forward. At dusk, the village is hazy, and there is a small flag swaying quietly in the wind and rain on a hut: Xinghua Village.
At this time, the hotel lights suddenly lit up, like a lover's gentle eyes. Watching, the poet is a little drunk.
Tang Poetry Essay "Sending Friends to the North on a Rainy Night" (Zeng Dong)
When you ask about the return date, it's hard to say, evening rain, Manqiuchi. When * * * cut the candle at the west window, but talk about the rain at night. (Li Shangyin)
Turn on the lights and open the letters. Your smile is hidden behind the words, bright and warm, and there are some faint tears. Your concern, your thoughts, your gentle words, through the darkness, through the soul, flew to my lonely windowsill.
And I always change the scheduled return date again and again, again and again, and finally, maybe one day I can walk into your watch.
Bashan unconsciously, spring went to spring, and when it turned around, autumn was already deep. It's raining and the pond is full. These homeless children will spend another lonely night with me.
This is just a dream. You sit by the window and look at me quietly. Candlelight is a little flower that has just opened, dressing you up so young and beautiful, just like the night when the red veil was lifted many years ago. In the hazy, grasping your soft hand like water, I feel happy and feel the happiness and dependence of my life.
I hold you in my arms and stick you in your ear, gently talking about those lonely days in Bashan, the autumn night of the letter exhibition, and the falling rain.
Tang Poetry Essay: Dengque Pavilion (Zeng Dong)
The sun sets slowly near the western hills, and the Yellow River flows into the East China Sea. Make further progress (Wang Zhihuan)
The sun, like a ripe fruit, finally sets slowly. The hungry mountain greedily devours the daily dinner with its sharp teeth.
At sunset, the zygomatic magpie building stood there like a soldier guarding his mother, witnessing a bloody scene.
The Yellow River roared and galloped. The blood vessels of this earth have been beating for thousands of years. Will it jump for tens of thousands of years? The Yellow River has never thought about it, only that it flows day after day, year after year, quietly nourishing the land and people on both sides of the strait, and never stops, and finally reluctantly injects the remaining milk into the broad embrace of the sea.
Some dreams that have been sleeping for a long time are activated by the magnificent beauty in front of them.
The poet seems to have climbed to a higher floor, and distant countries come into view one by one: crops grow gratifying in the sun; Birds fly freely in the sky; Hard-working, kind-hearted, unknown villagers are farming every simple and lively day on the land, and they are endless!
Writing of bird sound velocity in Tang poetry (Zeng Dong)
People are idle, osmanthus flowers fall, and the night is quiet and empty. When the moon comes out, the birds are startled, and the sound enters the spring stream. (Wang Wei)
In this way, the night fell gently into the mountains.
In spring, laurel trees are scattered with faint fragrance in the mountains, some flowers bloom and some flowers quietly wither. The darkness was broken by flowers and soon it was quiet.
Who will forget the route in the misty spring tonight? Who will wash away the noise of the world and listen to the truth of life? The poet's thin hands supported his cheeks, leaned against the railing and looked into the distance, and his thoughtful eyes crossed the Millennium Post Road. In the dim light, the dew got wet unconsciously.
The moon, like a naughty child, hid in the clouds for a while and soon drilled a round head. The moonlight flooded into the tree nest and awakened a group of sleeping birds. They flapped their thin wings, flying, flying, flying. Is this a dream or a reality?
A bird crowed, and another bird crowed; Some birds crow, some birds crow. By the stream, in the trees, in the empty and distant elves, they played the hopeful overture of spring at midnight.
Poem "Thinking of a Quiet Night" in Tang Dynasty (Zeng Dong)
The foot of my bed is shining so brightly. Is there frost already? I looked up at the moon and looked down, feeling nostalgic. -Li Bai's Thoughts on a Quiet Night
Month, tonight is full. Wandering people, pour a cup of light wine and fall in love. The moonlight climbed into a study in the ancient capital Chang 'an. Woodcarving bedside, skinny poet, can't find the way home.
I can't tell whether the cool light in front of the bed is frost falling in late autumn night or a blank piece of writing paper. Or an old mother with silver hair. In the gloom, I picked up a piece of homesickness.
At this time, only the full moon, with kind eyes, shines a lonely figure. Is there an old man, like me, standing in the moonlight, lonely and pitiful, gently calling a person's birth name on the ridge like a rope in his hometown?
Mom, go home with the transparent moonlight. It's a frame of acacia sent to you by a traveler on the Mid-Autumn Festival night by the Wei River!