The sunset glow leaked from the gap in the wings and fell into my eyes, just like a dream. Golden wings and crimson sunset glow flicker back and forth in my pupils, just like a bonfire lit by a hunter in the jungle on an autumn night ... (3) You fly out from the depths of a small forest with a gentle and shy smile on your lips. You throw yourself into my warm arms, just like a tired stream pouring into a deep pool. I put the flowers of the four seasons in your black hair, but you looked up and asked me, can a song that is out of tune still be called a song? (4) In the foggy dusk, I slowly put away my smile. Why should I break my fragile cocoon shell? Don't you know I'm slowly changing? Maybe, maybe after tonight, I can grow a pair of beautiful wings and fly in the sun as you long for? Butterflies in golden coats, like a golden cloud, stopped gathering in the sky behind them.
I stood there having nightmares, watching butterflies float in circles like fallen leaves, and gradually lost my back ... (6) You took my arm out of the rain lane, then melted in the endless rainy season outside the lane, and the twisted lights slipped gently, just like all the butterfly shadows in my memory. Butterfly (Poetry Group) (1) You are my butterfly with two wings on your back. No matter you are a butterfly, you can't get into the eyes I love. You are my butterfly. The box is full of my excessive love. It seems that time has nailed you to a silver needle, and you can't escape my persistent love for you. You are my butterfly. How can you be a butterfly that can't escape the dream I hate? You are my butterfly, hold my tears in your hand. I also regret loving you. It seems that I can't forgive that I can't wave my broken wings. I am not a butterfly. I don't understand that I'm not a butterfly. I can't fly and I won't die in the box of love. (2) On one occasion, you danced in front of everyone with beautiful posture.
-small lead you are always dancing out of thin air. Sunrise is always behind you. Clouds always splash into maple leaves, like blood coagulation burying your shadow. You always perch on the maple tree, and a blind game is born. The moonlight is always brighter in the broken clouds, like a field that dazzles you, flying to the dead maple sword, piercing your heart and sucking your blood dry. You always shake your dead wings, as if you want to fly. (3) Later, I dreamed of boating with you on the Lijiang River arm in arm-a boat was floating among the green mountains and green waters, holding your hand in the boat and walking on the mountain to meet you, and your figure was in my mouth. A butterfly curled up in front of my eyes, and I bent down to hold the water of Lijiang River and brushed away the tired world of mortals. I look at your beautiful image in the water and think that Yuyao, which is not heavy, will invite you to take me to the butterfly palace, although it is 30 thousand feet away from you, even though I can't find you in a thousand years. Butterfly (4) In the past, I dreamed that the butterfly dancing under the bright moon in the pool was gone-the red butterfly was hidden in a small pond. The water in the pool is desolate and clear through the maple leaf gate, the flying butterfly is clear and mysterious, and the red butterfly can't fly back. Even though maple leaves are like blood for thousands of years, I wash away a red dust, set foot on the bright moon pool, comb a bow, and look for a red butterfly that will never fade in my memory. Up to now, I'm looking for it. -There is a picture of nothing growing on the wall of Little Silver North House. At the door, the old man stared at the sky in confusion. Occasionally, birds pass by, leaving only weeds, silently looking for directions, but everywhere is desolate. There used to be butterflies flying in the noise, happiness was wings, but children didn't remember pain. It is the grass swimming in the grass dream, enjoying the time to wash away the old man's sorrow. The curtain under the eaves quietly covered the wall of the North House. The window of the north house fell to the ground through the light and turned into frost. I think of the past, the laughter and hurt I had.
2. The poem describes the butterfly flying to Tanghe, the spring clouds are hot, and the tortoise shell screen is intoxicating.
The master butterfly flies west, and the white riding child returns today. Where is the butterfly? Tang Qiji's back is full of red and full of mystery.
Fly separately. See you in teams. Distant harm will eventually stop birds and scramble to avoid bees.
Peach attracts back, and blue attracts each other. Mao Cui's heart is cold and fragrant powder is thick.
You can find shadows through trees, but you can't find flowers. The evening is still urgent, so spring dance should not be careless.
Xifeng old pool pavilion, but also to pick hibiscus. Jade Butterfly The autumn wind in Ting Yun, Tang Wen is sad, and the traveler has not returned.
The grass beyond the Great Wall decays first, and the geese in the south of the Yangtze River come late. Lotus has a tender face and new eyebrows.
It's sad and heartbreaking to shake it down. Who knows? Two butterflies, Tang Xu's misty caterpillars, shed their shells gently, and it rained heavily.
A beautiful branch to teach, a few wisps of spring breeze to fly. Every worry in the mouths of chickens and birds, as well as the fragrance of pity, is wrapped around the clothes that continue the front edge.
Ruthless can't solve the dream, don't believe the right and wrong of Zhuang Zhou. Brush green, wear red, and spend a lifetime in spring.
I hate it when the goddess comes to rain. I like to pick incense with stones. The wind should only accumulate pollen, and the night is cold and long
The cicada's song is pedantic, which can explain the noisy sunset in Sanqiu. It is not difficult for butterflies to fly in cocoons, but flowers will pass by.
The sky and the wind gently send each other, but laugh at spider weaving. Constant constant double brush painting column, beauty stole a glance frequently.
Don't bully your wings to fly short and close, it's hard to try to jump between flowers. There is no vivid reason. There are many wild paths in the wild garden.
Who doesn't know that silk and bamboo teach dance, and it depends on Yinger to sing? Cold bees pick chrysanthemums, and Tang Geng swims under the clear sky, looking for fragrance from chrysanthemums.
Bring the sound to the core and shadow it in the incense. Living in the fog, rising and falling with the wind.
Finally, I am ashamed of being a butterfly and don't communicate with my dreams. Jinse Tang Li Shangyin I want to know why my Jinse has fifty strings, each with a youthful interval.
Zhuangzi daydreaming, a saint, was bewitched by butterflies, and cuckoo crowed in the imperial spring. Mermaids shed pearl-like tears on the moon-green sea, and the blue fields breathed their jade to the sun.
It's worth remembering that it had come and gone before I knew it. Tang Rongyu bought hibiscus flowers with his own money, and it took two years to blossom.
The bright red is not seen by the beauty, but the butterfly tries to know it early.
3. Plum blossom poem: Two butterflies, Mo Mei and Wang Mian.
The trees in Xiyan Lake near my home are covered with faint ink marks.
Don't boast about the good color, just let the air be full of dried Kun.
Early plum blossom
A tree with cold plum and white jade, back to Lincun Road, next to the stream bridge.
I don't know if I started spraying water recently, but I suspect it didn't sell after the winter snow.
Mo mei ju Jian
Don't hate Danqing's waste painter, you don't need to seek common ground while reserving differences.
Jade capacity is not as good as western Western jackdaw color, so it is different from Han Palace.
Zaomei Miracle
Ten thousand mu can't stand the cold, and plum trees absorb the vitality of underground heating.
In front of the village in Zita Law, a branch was opened last night.
Biography of Mo Zhang Mei
Shuibian village, a valley on the hillside, was once blocked by flowers.
I still hate Dongfeng, but I hate it even more.
Zaomei Li Gongming
East wind and west wind, leaves are empty in the middle of Gunmushan.
Only plum blossoms can't be blown out, and they are still new and white.
Mo mei Zhao Bingwen
Painters don't make powder and fat noodles, but they are afraid that others will think I am straight.
We didn't know each other when we met. Xia Fu never cut a jade man.
Yimei Li shangyin
Far from home, I don't want to see the scenery in spring.
Samuume is the most offensive thing, because the old one is regarded as the flower that opened last year.
Wang Mian, Bai Mei
This body is in a forest of ice and snow, different from peaches and plums.
Suddenly a Ye Xiang, scattered for Wan Li dry springs.
Mei Wangqi
Free from dust at all, the bamboo fence hut is willing.
Just because I misunderstood Lin Hejing, I let the poet say this sentence.
Bet on plum blossom poems with Xue Zhaoming and lose Wang Anan Stone.
Fahua looks for spring and likes to see Mei, which is a pile of snow on the road.
Fengcheng Nanmo remembers its year, and it is difficult to come with the post.
Art design xingzhi
At present, who knows that cold friends are old, only plum blossoms are lonely.
The bright moon is like water every day, and the wine wakes up to listen to Yu Di.
They are all plum blossom poems.
4. Plum blossom poem: Two butterflies, Mo Mei, Wang Mian, a tree near my home in West Wild Goose Lake, and Bloom's pale ink.
Don't boast about the good color, just let the air be full of dried Kun. The early plum tree is called the cold plum white jade belt, which goes back to Lincun Road and Liuqiao.
I don't know if I started spraying water recently, but I suspect it didn't sell after the winter snow. Mo Mei lives in bamboo slips and doesn't hate the waste painters of Danqing, so she doesn't need to be different but consistent.
Jade capacity is not as good as western Western jackdaw color, so it is different from Han Palace. The newly blooming plum blossoms have long been frozen, and the lonely roots are warm and lonely.
In front of the village in Zita Law, a branch was opened last night. Shuibian Village, a secluded valley on the side of Zhanggang Mountain in Momei, used to be full of flowers.
I still hate Dongfeng, but I hate it even more. Plum blossoms first bloom, Li Dongfeng is westerly, and leaves are empty in the mountains.
Only plum blossoms can't be blown out, and they are still new and white. Mo Mei, a painter in Zhao Bingwen, doesn't make powder and fat noodles, but she is afraid that others will think I am straight.
We didn't know each other when we met. Xia Fu never cut a jade man. Yimei and Li Shangyin live at the end of the world and don't want things to happen.
Samuume is the most offensive thing, because the old one is regarded as the flower that opened last year. In the snow forest in Wang Mian, Bai Mei, this body is mixed with peaches and plums.
It was fragrant all night at once, and it was scattered as dry goods. Wan is not invaded by dust at all, and the bamboo fence is complacent. Just because I misunderstood Lin Hejing, I let the poet say this sentence.
Playing chess with Xue Zhaoming and betting on plum blossom poems lost a poem by Wang Anshi of Fahua, "Looking for Spring and Seeing Plum Blossoms", and there was a pile of snow on the road. Fengcheng Nanmo remembers its year, and it is difficult to come with the post.
In front of Mei Gong's sex, only plum blossoms are lonely. The bright moon is like water every day, and the wine wakes up to listen to Yu Di.
They are all plum blossom poems.
5. See the characteristics of early vernacular poetry from Hu Shi's two butterflies. Thank you. Two Butterflies is a poem written by Hu Shi, which was written in New Youth magazine on August 23rd 19 16.
Name two butterflies.
Author Hu Shi
Two yellow butterflies, both flying into the sky;
For some reason, one flew back.
The other, lonely and pitiful;
I have no intention of going to heaven. It's so lonely.
Zhu Jingnong, Hu Shi's good friend in Chinese Academy, wrote to persuade Hu Shi: "Vernacular poetry is not very desirable." Hu Shi's proposition did not get the support and approval of his friends. He felt lonely and depressed, so he wrote the famous butterfly. However, Lu Xun's "Jieting Essays" used the word "takenism" to laugh at Hu Shi's new poems, thinking that he just imitated western culture blindly and left the foundation of others for thousands of years, and this imitation can only be to learn English. The new poems written by Hu Shi in "Attempt Collection" are not successful, almost all of them are failures.
Many people are disappointed that the new literature is too youthful and naive, and Hu Shi's Two Butterflies has almost become a joke.
Hu Shi's creation broke the rules of traditional poetry, but it brought a tendency of "non-poeticization". Non-poetic means no poetry, not poetry.