The ancient poems describing the Qingming Festival are as follows:

Poems about the Qingming Festival include: "Qingming", "Qingming Night", "Niannujiao·Shu Dongliu Village Wall", "Donglan Pear Blossoms" ", "Qingming Festival Banquet at the Taoist Priest's Room with Plum Blossoms", etc.

1. "Qingming" by Wei Ye of the Tang Dynasty.

If you spend the Qingming Festival without flowers or wine, you will feel like a wild monk.

Yesterday my neighbor begged for a new fire, and Xiaochuang gave me a reading lamp.

Translation:

Without flowers and fine wine, I spent the Qingming Festival desolately; my interest and interest were like those of an old monk in a small temple in the mountains.

Yesterday I asked my neighbor for a new fire; today it was just dawn, so I quickly lit the scholar’s ??oil lamp in front of the window.

2. "Qingming Night" by Bai Juyi of the Tang Dynasty.

On a Qingming night with a hazy moon and a good wind, the governor of the imperial palace built a red pavilion.

Walking around the cloister alone, I sang and sang, listening to string instruments in the distance and looking at the flowers in secret.

Translation:

On the night of Qingming Festival, the breeze is blowing and the moon is hazy. The railings made of jasper and the walls made of red bricks are the governor's mansion.

Walking alone in the winding corridor, singing, hearing the sound of strings in the distance, and silently admiring the flowers.

3. "Nian Nujiao·Shu Dongliu Village Wall" by Xin Qiji of the Song Dynasty.

The wild tang flowers have fallen, and the Qingming Festival has passed in a hurry. The east wind in the land deceives visitors from their dreams, and a cloud screen makes them feel cold and timid. Holding a wine cup on the curved bank, with hanging poplars tied to the horse, this place has never been seen before. The building is empty and people go, but Feiyan can talk about the old travel.

Translation:

The wild tang flowers are falling, and the Qingming Festival has passed in a hurry. The east wind bullies travelers on the road and wakes me up from my short dream. A burst of cold air blew towards my lonely pillow, and I felt the slightest chill. On the bank of the curved river, I once raised a glass with a beautiful woman and drank together. Under the weeping willow, I once said goodbye to my beautiful lady here. Nowadays, the building is empty and only the swallows of the past still live here. Only it can bear witness to the joy of that time.