Poetry about the sound of rain 1. Ask for a lot of ancient poems about the sound of rain.
1. But now I think of that night, that storm, I don't know how many flowers I folded. (Meng Haoran: "Spring Dawn")
2. The empty mountain after the rain stands in the autumn evening. (Wang Wei: "Autumn in a Mountain Residence")
Good rain knows the season, when spring comes. (Du Fu: "Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night")
4. There is no rain on the mountain road and the clothes are wet, (Wang Wei: "On the Mountain")
5. Green bamboo hat, green hemp fiber, no need to return to the oblique wind and drizzle. (Zhang: "Yu Gezi")
6. Sleeping at night listening to the wind and rain, iron horse glacier dream. (Lu You: The Storm of November 4th)
7. It rains a lot during the Qingming Festival, and pedestrians on the road want to break their souls. (Du Mu: "Qingming")
8. Wu, a cold rainy night person, is seeing Chu Mountain off. (Wang Changling: Breaking up with Xin Jian at Furong Inn)
9. The Acropolis is soaked in the rain, and the guest house is green and willow-colored. (Wang Wei's "Send Yuan Er An Xi")
10. The water is bright and sunny, and the mountains are empty and rainy. (Su Shi: "Drinking on the Lake after Chu Qing")
Green bamboo hat, green hemp fiber, no need to return to the oblique wind and drizzle. -Zhang's Fishing Song.
The clothes are wet and the apricot blossoms are raining, and the face is not cold. -Monk Zhinan's quatrains
Weicheng is also lighter than rain and dust, and the guest house is green and willow. -Wang Wei's "Send Yuan II An Xi"
More than 480 ancient temples were left in the Southern Dynasties, and countless pagodas were shrouded in wind and rain. -Du Mu's "Jiang Nanchun Jueju"
The night will be over, I lie in bed listening to the sound of wind and rain, in a daze in my dream, riding an armored horse across the frozen river to the northern battlefield. -Lu You's The Storm of November 4th.
Good rain knows the season, when spring comes. -Du Fu's "Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night"
Seven or eight stars in the sky, two or three rains in front of the mountain ―― Xin Qiji's Xijiang Moon
How many flowers fall after a stormy night. -Meng Haoran's "Spring Dawn"
Mourning day, drizzle like tears; Pedestrians on the road want to die. -Du Mu's Tomb-Sweeping Day
2. Poetry about the sound of rain
There is a very old feeling, a very small wall and a person who inadvertently took a look. 1 This does not mean that I can resist the dust that is not time. The buds at my fingertips can resist them. I'm too light. This rainy street won't be separated by two rows of rain because my road passes. I really passed. I am at a loss in such thick moisture. I can't give the mountains and rivers or give up the smoke on the eaves lightly. It has been rising for many years, and the path in front of the door is full of fallen flowers before I raise my hand. I can't tell you. I only came back because I can't forget it. This is my silent escape. This is the forgiven frost. I know nothing about the details. I just want a bright moon, a white house and the only glass of water in the house. I can't bear to have ears and eyes that can't pierce the darkness. I'm just a porter. In this normal spring, children can't hear the growth of pines and cypresses, and even can't remember someone putting down their burdens and standing beside me. The sound of rain keeps talking about spring, the pink of Chun Lv, the Yellow River and the West Lake, the melting of your concern, and my silk flower Spring shakes the vigorous branches in the north and kisses the soft willow yarn in the south, so she is swaying and drifting, listening to the sound of rain, lingering and tearing.
3. Ancient poems describing the sound of rain
Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night) 4. There is no rain on the mountain road, and the clothes are wet. I don't know how many flowers I have folded.
(Lu you: the rain after drinking on the lake) There is no need to go home in the oblique wind and drizzle. -Zhang's "Son of the Fisherman" clothes are wet, and Liu Feng's face is cold. -The quatrains of monk Zhinan: Morning rain in Weicheng is also light dust: spring dawn) 2. An empty mountain after the rain.
-Meng Haoran's "Spring Dawn" It rains in the Qingming period. Du Fu, when spring comes.
-Du Fu's Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night has seven or eight stars in the sky. -Wang Wei's "Send Two Stones to Anxi" 480 temples in the Southern Dynasties, with many towers and misty rain.
-Du Mu's "Jiangnan Spring Poetry" lies listening to the stormy night, and the iron horse glacier dream. -Lu You's The Storm on November 4th tells the story of the rainy season.
(Zhang: "Fishing Song") 6. Lying in the middle of the night listening to the wind and rain, green hemp fiber, autumn night, green willows in the guest house, when spring comes, it rains before two or three o'clock-Xin Qiji's Xijiang Moon, but I still remember that night, that storm. (Wang Wei: "Parting with Xin Jian at Furong Inn") 9. The acropolis was bathed in rain.
(Su Shi, the green willow in the guest house is new in color: Autumn Mountain) 3. Good rain knows the season. (Wang Wei's "Send Yuan Er An Xi" Xi》) 10/0. Bright water: "In the mountains") 5. Indigo: "1 1 4 th of the month") 7. A drizzling rain falls like tears on the Mourning Day; The mourner's heart is going to break on his way.
(Du Mu: Tomb-Sweeping Day) 8. On a cold rainy night in Wu Man, Pingming sent a guest to Chushan alone. (Wang Changling, there is no need to return to the oblique wind and drizzle. In Kong Yu, Shan Ye, pedestrians on the road are dying. 1. But now I think of that night, that storm, I don't know how many flowers I folded.
(Meng Haoran started.
4. Seek a large number of ancient poems describing the sound of rain, and seek a large number of ancient poems describing the sound of rain.
1. But now I think of that night, that storm, I don't know how many flowers I folded. (Meng Haoran: "Spring Dawn") 2. The empty mountain after the rain stands in the autumn evening. (Wang Wei: Living in Autumn) 3. Good rain knows the season, when spring comes. (Du Fu: Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night) 4. It didn't rain on the mountain road, and my clothes were wet. Ma Tie Glacier is dreaming. (Lu You: The Storm of November 4th) 7. A drizzling rain falls like tears on the Mourning Day; The mourner's heart is going to break on his way. (Du Mu: Tomb-Sweeping Day) 8. A man named Wu sent his guests to Chushan on a cold rainy night. (Wang Changling: Farewell to Xin Jian at Furong Inn) 9. Weicheng was drenched, and the guest room was green and willow-colored. It's rainy in the mountains. (Su Shi: Drinking clear water on the lake makes it rain) There is no need to ask for rain. -Zhang's "Fishing Songs" wet his clothes and his face was not cold and windy. -Monk Zhinan's "Jueju" It is also a light dust and a guest when it rains in Weicheng. Ma Tie Glacier is dreaming. -Lu You "The Storm on November 4" knows when it rains and when it happens in spring. -Du Fu's "Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night" has seven or eight stars, and it began to rain before two or three o'clock-Xin Qiji's "Xijiang Moon", now I think of that night, that storm, and I don't know how many flowers were broken. -Meng Haoran's Spring Dawn is Clear and Rainy.
5. Poetry about the sound of rain
The rain outside the window, like a woman's sob, is sometimes urgent and sometimes soothing, and is collected by the old Crocker under the eaves. Inevitably, some quarrels are caused by the back of my mother hanging clothes alone from childhood memories, and the open doors and windows are like dewdrops. The beads on the glass window were covered with curtains about the past, but they quickly slipped down and watered a forgotten calla lily waiting to bloom. What kind of mood should I put the rain with a heavy heart? Maybe just an occasional conversation. Your strangeness is never strange, just like the posture of waking up from sleep is so harmonious. Tonight's rain falls on the pillow as if a person is drifting away and getting closer.
6. Sentences describing the sound of rain
The drizzle fell on the corrugated board of the old house. Spring is whispering and telling stories all the way.
The dripping eaves looked at the cracks in the ground and made a series of flat and even carefully accumulated water drops on the slate. The shadows of the trees are swaying, and the leaves are open to meet the tight and slow combing.
Bodhisattva Man (bamboo with eaves falling in the rain) Time: Song Author: Zhao Yanduan Works: Bodhisattva Man with eaves falling in the rain. A clear song evokes a clear sleep.
There are still some flowers left in East Lake. The same tendency, no problem.
Restaurants are raining. The rain was blown away by the wind.
Blow away the Fu Ying Cup. How many times a spring?
Listening to the afterglow of the cold rain, the spring cold intensifies. First, the material is steep, and then the rainy season begins, sometimes dripping, sometimes wet, even in the dream, it seems to have an umbrella.
With an umbrella, you can avoid a cold rain and the whole rainy season. Even my thoughts are wet.
Going home every day, it is a dream to walk into the rain and wind from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street. It's sad to think of Taipei like this. This is a completely black-and-white movie. I think the whole history of China and China is nothing more than a black-and-white movie. It rained like this from beginning to end.
I wonder if this feeling comes from antonioni. But that land was a long time ago. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, even if it rains, Qian Shan is full of water, and the umbrella is across Qian Shan.
In twenty-five years, everything was broken, involving only climate and weather forecast, and a big cold current rolled in from that land. This indifference is shared with the ancient continent. You can't jump into her arms and be swept away by her. This is also a comfort for children.
When I think so, I feel a little warm in the cold. In this way, he hopes that these narrow alleys will extend forever, and his thinking can also be extended, not from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street, but from Jinmen to Xiamen.
He is from Xiamen, at least in a broad sense. For twenty years, he has been living in Xiamen Street instead of Xiamen, which is a mockery and a comfort. But in a broad sense, he is also a Jiangnan native, a Changzhou native, a Nanjing native, a Chuanwaer, and a teenager in a broad sense.
The apricot blossom and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River was his boyhood. It will be clear in half a month.
Antonioni's lens tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Residual water is like water, and the earth after heaven is like water.
There are thousands of people from north to south. Is there porcelain in it? China, of course, will always be China.
It's just that the apricot blossom and spring rain are gone, the shepherd boy no longer gives directions, the sword gate is drizzling, and the dust in Weicheng is gone. However, where is the land he dreams of day and night? In the headlines of the newspaper? Or is it a rumor in Hong Kong? Or Fu Cong's black keys white key Ma Sicong's jump bow plucking strings? Or is it the hope of antonioni's mirror-ending horse week? Or, in the walls and glass cabinets of the Palace Museum, in the rhyme of Taibai Dongpo in the sound of gongs and drums in Beijing Opera? Apricot flowers and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River.
Liuge, maybe that piece of soil is in it. Whether it is Chixian, Shenzhou or China, it is changing. As long as Cang Xie's inspiration persists, his beautiful Chinese will not be old, and the centripetal force like a magnet will inevitably grow.
Because a square character is a world. At the beginning, there were words, so the memories and hopes of his ancestors were pinned in the hearts of Han people.
For example, write a word "rain" out of thin air, dribs and drabs, torrential rain, all love and rain will be in it. What kind of visual beauty can rain or pluie satisfy? Jin Mu, like fire and water, has become the world by itself. When you enter the "Rain" Department, the ancient China is ever-changing, and you will notice that beautiful frost, snow, clouds and terrible thunder and hail only show God's good temper and bad temper, and the Meteorological Observatory takes pains to read an encyclopedia that laymen can't understand.
Listen, the cold rain. Look at that cold rain.
Smell it, cold rain, lick it, cold rain. Rain fell on his umbrella, raincoats fell on the umbrellas of millions of people in this city, antennas fell on houses, and ships landed on the breakwater channel of Keelung Port.
Rain is a woman and should be the most emotional. Rain is empty and psychedelic. Smell it carefully, it's refreshing, with a little mint fragrance. When it is strong, it gives off the peculiar smell of grass and wood after bathing. Maybe it's actually the smell of earthworm and snail. After all, it is shocking.
Maybe it's life on the ground and underground, maybe the memory of ancient China is stupid and crawling, maybe it's the subconscious and dreams of plants, and there is something fishy about it. When I went to America for the third time, I lived in the mountains of Denver for two years.
The western United States is mountainous and desert, and it is dry for thousands of miles. The sky is as blue as Anglo-Saxon eyes, the ground is as red as Indian skin, and clouds are rare. There are few clouds and fog on the dazzling snow peaks in the Loki Mountains. One is high, the other is dry, and the third is above the forest line, and the cedar has stopped. "Clouds Wangfu interest? Free and easy in my chest "or" Yellow Rain in Shang Lue "in China's poems is an ugly landscape in the Rocky Mountains.
The victory of the Rocky Mountains lies in stones and snow. Those jagged rocks overlap and depend on each other, creating a thrilling sculpture exhibition for the sun and wind thousands of miles away.
White and illusory snow, cold and clear, endless momentum makes people feel hard to breathe, cold and sour. However, to appreciate the state of "clouds, when I look back, just behind me, fog, when I entered them, it was gone", you still have to come to China.
The humidity in Taiwan Province Province is very high, which is the most ambiguous. I stayed at the head of the stream for two nights. The trees were fragrant and the cold hit my elbow at night. I slept like a fairy, resting on overlapping mountain shadows and endless rest.
It rained all night in the mountains and woke up the next morning. In the primitive silence where the rising sun did not rise, I ventured into the secret of the forest, walked all the way up the mountain through the broken branches on the ground and the trickling rain, facing the cold all night. The mountain at the head of the stream is dense with trees and dense fog. The lush water vapor rises from the bottom of the Ran Ran, sometimes thick and sometimes light, and the transpiration changes. We can only see the hidden peaks and valleys at a glance from the open space where the fog breaks through the clouds, and it is almost impossible to have a panoramic view.
Go up the mountain at least twice, and you can only play hide-and-seek with Xitoufeng in the white. Back in Taipei, the world asked me, except for smiling and pretending to be mysterious, the actual impression was nothing more than nothing.
Clouds around, mountains hidden, water far away.
7. Is there a sentence to describe the sound of rain?
1. Spring rain is the gentlest. If the spring rain comes, try to let it wipe your face. That kind of feeling is very gentle, just like mom touching your face gently, which is very comfortable. After the spring rain, flowers and plants will be more colorful. Spring rain is their nourishment.
2. Summer rain is the most enthusiastic. Rain hits the eaves, and the glass makes a "Hua La" sound, which makes people feel that Yu Xia is like a crazy bee, constantly chirping. It's hard to be hit in the face by summer rain. It hurts like a small stone in the face.
Autumn rain is a combination of spring rain and summer rain Autumn rain sometimes sweeps across the earth, but sometimes it falls like a gasp. However, autumn rain is the messenger of harvesting fruits. After the autumn rain, the farmer's uncle felt much more relaxed, because the harvest day came.
Winter rain, like ancient women, rarely shows up. If it rains in winter, it is likely to snow. It is flying in the sky. At this time, the children are happy and can have fun again.
5. Crying rain: Rain is like a baby crying. It not only goes from choking and sobbing to tears without gradual rhythm or warning; And the ending came to an abrupt end. None of the raindrops became sparse and small, and the dark clouds slowly spread out excessively, as if the raindrops were still hanging in mid-air. You are not like the spring rain of a shy girl, but only give gentle and moist kisses to flowers and plants; You don't like the tired old lady's autumn rain, which gives people unbearable shade and rain.
You are like an unscrupulous and unrestrained young man, pouring out your uncontrollable love for flowers, crops and mother earth; Like an infatuated girl, telling her lover her deep love.
Ah, Yu Xia, you savage soul? Only you deserve to be called "the life of youth"!
Ah, Yu Xia, you are walking briskly, and your footsteps are rushing to shoulder the mission of destroying branches and welcome dust.
I praise you, Yu Xia!
Summer rain often comes and goes quickly, without the lingering of pure rain and the leisurely autumn rain. Summer is poetic. Xia Feng is fresher than spring breeze, and summer nights are more charming than spring nights. The summer heat gradually receded during the day, the crescent moon hung in the sky, and the stars shed a little cold light.
Rain is weak and the lightest thing in the world. It can't knock down heavy reinforced concrete buildings. And the tile house, with raindrops on it, jingled and immediately made a pleasant sound. People who live in huts are also blessed to be close to nature in the rain. When the rain is sudden, the sound is generous and violent, just like hundreds of horses singing together, Malik gallops. As the rain slows down, the sound becomes weaker and seeps into your heart gently, like the breeze in your ear in warm spring. These tiles seem to be specially laid for rain. They play dutifully, and the hearts of those who listen to the rain will overflow with endless affection.
People like to sit quietly and listen to the rain when their hearts are full of nostalgia and regret. The old people have the ambition of "lying in the middle of the night listening to the wind and rain and dreaming of the iron horse glacier"; Dying beauty has the bitterness of "raindrops brighten yellow leaves and lights illuminate my bald head"; Acacia lovers have the vision of "the phoenix tree is raining, and it will drop at dusk"; Affectionate poets have the daydream that "the small building listens to the spring rain all night, and the deep alley sells apricot flowers."
Rain has become an emissary for people to decorate their feelings and place their wishes.
In my spare time, I was lucky enough to go back to the place where I used to listen to the rain. It happened to be raining lightly that day, and I heard the familiar and unfamiliar sound of rain. In the mist, there is a strange mood in the rain, and we haven't communicated for a long time. It keeps me away and shows me that it is strange to me, but I can feel the breath of its existence from the deepest part of my consciousness. There is a sense of carefree waking from a dream and a sense of vicissitudes after confusion.
Oh, what I met in the rain was the self separated from time and space, and it was telling me everything before. I hesitated. I asked myself: Who am I? Still the old me?
There is a saying: "Young people listen to singing on the rainy floor, and the red candle is faint." In the prime of life, the boat is listening to the rain, the river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are called the west wind. "Different life situations make people feel different when listening to the rain. However, listening to the rain is all about listening to the dialogue of the soul, listening to the flow of true feelings and listening to the flow of years. In addition to the echo of the years, the sound of rain also brings regrets of the past and melancholy that I want to talk about again. It seems that only in the light rain of this tile house can the soul breathe and life continue.
The rain is still ringing, like my real heartbeat.