1, Eight Poems by Qiu Xing (I)
Du Fu (Tang Dynasty)
Yulu withered maple forest, Wushan Wuxia bleak.
Between the river and the sky, the waves are rough and the clouds are covered with fog.
Cong Ju shed tears the other day. She was alone in the boat.
Cold clothes push knives and rulers everywhere, and Baidicheng is anxious.
Translation:
Maple trees gradually withered and damaged under the erosion of dew in late autumn, and Wushan and Wuxia were also shrouded in bleak and gloomy fog. The waves in the Wuxia Gorge are monstrous, the empty dark clouds seem to be pressing on the ground, and the world is gloomy. It has been two years since the flowers bloomed. Looking at the blooming flowers and thinking that I haven't been home for two years, I can't help crying. The ship is still tied to the shore. Although I can't go back to the East and wander outside, my heart is always tied to my hometown. We are rushing to make clothes to keep out the cold in winter, and the anvil knocking on cold clothes in Baidicheng is as tight as a crack.
Step 2 climb high
Du Fu (Tang Dynasty)
The wind is fast and high, the ape cries sadly, and the birds are circling in the white sand.
The endless trees are rustling leaves, and the Yangtze River is rolling unpredictably.
Li in the sad autumn scenery, a wanderer all the year round, lives alone on the high platform in today's illness.
After all the hardships and hatred, the white hair is full, and the wine glasses are damaged.
Translation:
It is very sad that there are birds hovering on the river with clear water and white sand. The endless trees are rustling leaves, and the Yangtze River is rolling in and rushing. Sad to autumn, I feel that Wan Li has been wandering all the year round and has been sick all his life. Today, he is alone on the high platform. After a lot of hardships, white hair is full of temples, and the cup is hanging.
3. Five poems about historic sites (3)
Du Fu (Tang Dynasty)
Thousands of mountains and valleys are close to Jingmen, and girls grow up in Sri Lanka.
She came out of the purple palace and entered the desert. Now she has become a green grave in the yellow dusk.
Her face! Can you imagine the spring wind? Back to the soul in the moonlight.
The Tatar song on her jade guitar tells her eternal sadness.
Translation:
Wanling and Qianshan, as if a wave went to Jingmen, the village where Wang Zhaojun grew up still exists. From Zitai to the desert beyond the Great Wall, the green grave left alone in the wilderness faces dusk. Only by drawing pictures to identify Zhaojun's face, the ring at the foot of the mountain is worn and jingled, which is the return of Zhaojun's soul. For thousands of years, the pipa has been playing the tone of Alakazam, and the music expressed obvious dissatisfaction with Zhaojun.
4. Wang Yue
What a magnificent scenery Mount Tai is! Out of Qilu, green peaks can still be seen.
The magical nature brings together thousands of beautiful mountains in the south and the separation between morning and dusk in the north.
Layers of white clouds, cleaning the gully on the chest; The flat bird flew into the eye socket.
Try to climb to the top of the mountain: it dwarfs all the peaks under our feet.
Translation:
Taishan, how majestic are you? You are tall and green, and you cross Qilu. The creator gave it to you, and it condensed magnificence and magic. Your towering mountain divides the north and the south into morning and evening. It's refreshing to watch the clouds rise, and it's eye-splitting to watch the returning birds spin into the mountains. One day, I will climb to the top of your mountain and see the hills around me at a glance!
5. Hope of Spring
Chang' an fell, the country was broken, and only the mountains and rivers remained; Spring has come, and the sparsely populated Chang' an city is densely forested.
Sad state, can not help but burst into tears, amazing birds, leaving sorrow and hate.
The war lasted for more than half a year, and letters from home were rare, with a hundred thousand gold.
Twisting with melancholy, scratching my head and thinking, the more I scratch my white hair, I can hardly insert a hairpin.
Translation:
The capital has been broken, leaving only mountains and rivers, and the capital is bleak in spring, with deep vegetation everywhere. I want to cry when I see bloom when I am sad, and I am shocked when I hear birds singing when I am disappointed and sad. The war lasted for several months, and letters from home were worth two thousand gold. The more you scratch your white hair, the more you can't comb it or put it in a bun.