The floating neon light shows the drunkenness of a city, and all kinds of people and cars shuttle between tall buildings. Countless data galloping in the optical cable is a true portrayal of such an information age, in which everyone is in a hurry. When it comes to reading, I'm afraid most people just look at the times of the day, and relatively unfamiliar poems are naturally forgotten by most people.
Poetry is a treasure that shines in the long river of history. Her beauty, freshness and agility; Her beauty is moving and touching; Her beauty, indifference and quiet. ...
Nature has given mankind too much wealth, which is particularly beautiful in the poet's pen. Su Dongpo's West Lake is ever-changing and touching: bright or hazy, thick or light, no matter which gesture is so charming. The Qiantang River in Bai Juyi's eyes is beautiful. At that time, the spring was strong, and the vitality and beauty at that time were vividly portrayed in his poems. The early spring that Han Yu saw was hazy. Like a painter, he used a brush to vaguely dig out the traces of green. Numerous poets use pen and ink to outline the fresh and smart natural scenery, which requires us to slow down and meditate.
There are always some scenes that will remind you of the existence of missing, and there are always some poems that will evoke your sadness. After the Southern Tang Dynasty, the emperor went to the West Building alone, and the new moon was silent. Did deep sadness touch your heart? Fan Zhongyan stared at the yellow autumn leaves outside the Great Wall, washed his sorrow with wine, but turned into homesick tears. Will his homesickness infect you? Wei said goodbye in the rain in late spring, watching the heavy sails and low-flying birds drift away. Will the infinite farewell at that time remind you of it? With the change of dynasties, the melancholy beauty of that year has been passed down to this day, and such beauty needs us to put down our steps and appreciate it carefully.
Peach Blossom Garden Poems The Garden of Eden in the hearts of China people, and the indifferent and leisurely life has also aroused the yearning of countless writers. Mr. Wuliu picked chrysanthemums under the east fence, looked leisurely at Nanshan, walked out of the secular cage and lived a quiet life. Xin Qiji yearns for the white-haired man under the low thatched eaves, speaks Wu Nong's soft language and lives a quiet life under his knees. Meng Haoran is surrounded by green forests, and the window is attracted by the simple pastoral life of vegetable gardens and grain fields. I don't know how many people will yearn for such a life after so many centuries, and how many people will pursue such leisure. To achieve such beauty, we need to put down our steps and utilitarianism.
This is a fast-paced era, but I still hope that we can slow down, lighten the weight of utility, and don't abandon China's treasures. The beauty hidden in poetry is worth our heart.