Turtles and snakes stand tall, with three towns across the river. The Yangtze River breaks through the peaks of Bashan Mountain, carrying the clouds and water of Xiaoxiang, surging across the land of Sanchu. Jianghan crosses the ancient city of Wuhan. The jade flute is played at the top of the Yellow Crane Tower. The sound of the flute startles the plum blossoms in Jiangcheng in early spring.
In the early morning, the mist spreads lightly on the river beach, and the fine sunlight covers the stone path. The Yangtze River Bridge spans the blue sky, like a flying rainbow between the misty Turtle Mountain and Snake Mountain. At this time, the wanderer, who had not returned for many years, walked cheerfully and quietly. The shadows of the parasol trees at the Wuchang bridge are rustling, and the coldness of the film passes through the harsh winter of memory, leaving dreams of a chilly early spring. After twisting and turning and climbing up the stairs, the gate of the first floor of Tianxia Jiangshan echoed with the dense sound of tolling.
In Huanghejitou, the scenery is vivid; outside the green pavilion, the winding path is deep. Have you heard the sound of cranes chirping? That is the immortal flying on the crane from the beautiful legend, soaring in the blue sky. The cornices are piled high and the colored glaze is brilliant. When you stand on the roof of the five-story building, you can see the clear sky. Cangshan Mountain lies like jasper at your feet. The white clouds that have never returned come from the poems of old friends and linger around you. 's eyes. Regardless of the majesty of the north-south line, or the beauty of the world, they all turn into clear words and beautiful sentences flowing in your chest. At this moment, you are a wisp of cooking smoke in the countryside at dusk, spreading a faint tranquility; you are a touch of piano rhyme in the mountains and flowing water, rippling the lightness of the arteries; you are a wave of the river going east, blooming with moving youth; you It is the midnight fishing fire on the ferry, lighting up the distant river sky. Taking a deep breath of the beauty of Jiangcheng, a poetic tone transformed into the misty willow color of Qingchuan Pavilion and the gentle sound of the rising and falling tide. Who let fly the paper kite in March, pulling the moving world of dust across your eyes. My thoughts are racing outside of things, my soul is flying in the sky, and the grass at the head of Parrot Island is the oldest memory in these years.
Open your mind to "connect with the mountains", do you feel that you have majestic green peaks, towering towers; express your interest in "dreams of swallowing clouds", do you feel that you are holding Jianghan in your arms, and touching your head? The sky. The beacon of history has been extinguished with the desolate trumpet. Are the soldiers who guarded Xiakou still waiting for their long mission? With the vicissitudes of the world and the passage of time, the Yellow Crane Tower has changed its appearance, but it has not changed the mottled sunlight on the stone steps. The fragrance of ink in the pen-holding pavilion is filled with the spring breeze, and the moss on the wall where the poem is written is dyed in the rhythm. I really want to turn into the white clouds in Cui Hao's paintings, lingering on the Yanbo River for a while, and the ancients flying away on cranes, Are you also missing the rhythmic spring breeze on the river bank? I really want to turn into the distant shadow of the lonely sail in the eyes of the immortal poet, drifting to the dreamy Yangzhou in the affectionate farewell, and the fireworks at the end of the sky, are you still gorgeous in the warm season?
It leans against the East Lake and overlooks Qintai, borders the Han River and controls the Yangtze River, is adjacent to Shouyi and occupies three towns, and is majestic and proud of China. Listen, whose heart the auspicious bell rings, the quiet aftertaste lingers into the refreshing spring rain, spreading among the mountains. The trails near Luo Mei Xuan are covered in red. Tourists holding umbrellas and walking slowly walk very lightly. They can't bear to crush the fragrant atmosphere. What I love most is not the pavilions in the mist and rain, nor the pavilions in the sunset, but the green bamboo poles in the Purple Bamboo Garden. The lush green shade covers a trace of the curved stone slabs. When the refreshing spring breeze blows on you through the bamboo leaves, is there a transcendent feeling growing in your heart? At this time, what flashes in your eyes is... Tears, but the sky filled with crystal stars.
Thousands of years of yellow cranes fly into the hearts of old friends. Thousands of years of old friends walk into the plains of poems. Thousands of years of poems float into the mist of Jiangcheng. Thousands of years of Jiangcheng become... In a wanderer's dream. The dross of time has been washed away by the big waves, and what has settled is the most moving essence. The spring scenery on Guishan Mountain is extremely beautiful, and the scenery of Yuemachang is infinitely charming. Tourists in twos and threes began to disperse, but I still stood there, waiting for news of the arrival of the Yellow Crane.