2. Poems about fences
Poems about fences 1. Poems about fences
1, "Seclusion" Ming Yezi Qi
Cang Shi Hongquan secluded home, morning glory fence.
I don't know how much autumn is full. Lucy is cool and bloom is cool.
2, "The Second in the Village" Wang Yuan Cotton
Green hibiscus is used as a fence, and radish is hung on the eaves.
The carriage can't be muddy, and the firewood eats grass.
Lie down and watch "Return to the Field" and listen to "Song of Beating the Earth".
Yo-yo is the only way. What's wrong with knives and saws?
3, "Mountain Visitors Map" Yin Mingtang
In Ye Mao's hometown, mangroves are yellow, and dogs bark at the fence in the mountains.
There is nothing else for the meeting in the village. It must be when people come to borrow flowers.
4, "Tian Jia Shi Jue" loose yue.
The mastiff in the village rushed out of the fence and brought it if he wanted to call.
It's not that I forgot my machine too much. I stayed with that family that time.
5, "He Yong" Song Miaojian
Green hills are dotted with bamboo and short fences, just like the home of nymphs.
Love the Japanese-American green window wind, and the crane combs the flowers lightly.
2. What poems are there about fences?
1. Tang Yin, a poet in the Ming Dynasty, wrote a picture of a mountain visitor. Mangroves are yellow, and Ye Mao's hometown, the mountain, is barking at the fence.
There is nothing else for the meeting in the village. It must be when people come to borrow flowers. 2. The Song Dynasty poet Miao Jian's Ode to the Crane built a bamboo hedge in Qingshan, like a hermit's house in Linquan.
Love the Japanese-American green window wind, and the crane combs the flowers lightly. 3. Liu Kezhuang, a poet in Song Dynasty, wrote ten books at the end of the year. He was too lazy to go out and copy books every day, and picked up a pen in the small window until dusk.
The servant is busy mixing powder, no matter how muddy the inkstone is. 4. Hua Yue, a poet in the Song Dynasty, wrote "Tian Jia Shi Jue" with thrush burning without ink, but he didn't know the palace was decorated with jade.
Laughing at Dongfeng teasing each other and secretly pulling nepotism around people's waist. 5. Song Dynasty poet Dong Siwei's "Morning Glory" column was too late after the red rain, and the blue lining dyed the autumn sky.
The river drum stars are high and the flowers are different, and the clothes and cigarettes are beautiful and the west wind is beautiful. The incense is coated with ginger, and the vine leads the cool posture into the beans.
Because the core is still divided into black and white, this flower is the same as Yi Yang. What do ancient poets mean by writing fences in their poems? Fences have been synonymous with rural people since ancient times. The poet writes about the pastoral scenery and the fence at the same time, resulting in a sense of sight of pastoral beauty.
3. What poems are there about fences?
1, [Ming] Ye, Seclusion
Excerpts from the original text:
Cang Shi Hongquan secluded home, morning glory fence.
Explanation:
Cyan is a stone-red spring, like a fairyland. There are few hermits here, and the vines of morning glory grow around the fence.
2. [Song] Miao bamboo slips "He Yong"
Excerpts from the original text:
Green hills are dotted with bamboo and short fences, just like the home of nymphs.
Explanation:
Castle peak, bamboo and hedgerow seem to live in seclusion by the mountain spring.
3, [Ming] Tang Yin's "Mountain Residence Map"
Excerpts from the original text:
In Ye Mao's hometown, mangroves are yellow, and dogs bark at the fence in the mountains.
Explanation:
Red leaves and yellow weeds, the old house between Shan Ye, dogs barking through the fence in the mountains at noon.
4, [Song] Liu Kezhuang's "Thirty Years Book"
Excerpts from the original text:
The wild vines on the fence made the guests suspect that they were not at home.
Explanation:
Moss and wild vines climbed up the abandoned fence. When the guests saw this scene, they suspected that the owner was no longer at home.
5.[ Yuan] Wang Mian's "Village Second"
Excerpts from the original text:
Green hibiscus is used as a fence, and radish is hung on the eaves.
Explanation:
Green hibiscus flowers are used as fences, and dill is hung on the eaves of thatched houses.
4. Poems about fences
1, "Seclusion" Ming Yezi Qi Cang Shi Hongquan lived in seclusion, and morning glory circled the fence.
I don't know how much autumn is full. Lucy is cool and bloom is cool. 2. "The second in the village": Wang Yuan cotton green hibiscus as a fence, Mao Yan Guaguoluo.
The carriage can't be muddy, and the firewood eats grass. Lie down and watch "Return to the Field" and listen to "Song of Beating the Earth".
Yo-yo is the only way. What's wrong with a knife saw? 3. The Mountain Tourists Map shows the hometown of Mangrove Yellow in Tang Yin and the barking fence of Japanese coyotes. There is nothing else for the meeting in the village. It must be when people come to borrow flowers.
4, "Tianjia Shi Jue" Hua Songyue Village Mastiff bravely rushed out of the fence, if you want to call, you can take it away. It's not that I forgot my machine too much. I stayed with that family that time.
5, "Singing Crane" Song Miaojian Qingshan pruning bamboo hedges, like the home of nymphs hermits. Love the Japanese-American green window wind, and the crane combs the flowers lightly.
5. What are the poems with "fences"?
1. Tang Yin, a poet of the Ming Dynasty, "You Shan"
In Ye Mao's hometown, mangroves are yellow, and dogs bark at the fence in the mountains.
There is nothing else for the meeting in the village. It must be when people come to borrow flowers.
2. Song Dynasty poet Miao Jian's Ode to the Crane
Green hills are dotted with bamboo and short fences, just like the home of nymphs.
Love the Japanese-American green window wind, and the crane combs the flowers lightly.
Liu Kezhuang, a poet in Song Dynasty, wrote ten books at the end of the year.
I am lazy to go out reading every day, and I write in the small window until dusk.
The servant is busy mixing powder, no matter how muddy the inkstone is.
4. Hua Yue, a poet in the Song Dynasty, "Ten Things in the Family"
Thrush burning lamp without ink, can't know the palace makeup jade.
Laughing at Dongfeng teasing each other and secretly pulling nepotism around people's waist.
5. "Morning Glory" by Dong Siwei, a poet in the Song Dynasty
The rain on the fence is too late. The sun is red and the blue lining is the autumn sky.
The river drum stars are high and the flowers are different, and the clothes and cigarettes are beautiful and the west wind is beautiful.
The incense is coated with ginger, and the vine leads the cool posture into the beans.
Because the core is still divided into black and white, this flower is the same as Yi Yang.
What do ancient poets mean by writing fences in their poems?
Fences have been synonymous with rural people since ancient times. The poet writes about the pastoral scenery and the fence at the same time, resulting in a sense of sight of pastoral beauty.
6. Poems on the fence line
On the trip to pipa, I saw off guests on the banks of Xunyang River, and maple leaves and rushes rustled in autumn.
I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups, hoping to drink-but, alas, there is no music. Although we drank a lot of wine, we were not happy. When we were leaving each other, the river mysteriously widened in the direction of the full moon.
We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the host forgot to go home and the guests left. We followed the direction of the melody and asked the player's name, and the voice was interrupted ... and then she reluctantly answered.
We moved the boat closer to hers, invited her to join us, and summoned more wine and lanterns to start our party again. However, before she came to us, we called a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind her guitar from us.
... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings. Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.
She frowned, bent her fingers, and then started her music, letting her heart share everything with us bit by bit. She brushes the strings, twists them slowly, sweeps them and plucks them, first "Nishang" and then "Six Yao".
Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets. Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, so you can't swallow the spring scenery and flow under the ice. The ice spring is cold and astringent, and the strings condense, and the condensation will never stop.
The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice. A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.
Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk. The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.
She tied it thoughtfully on the rope, stood up and smoothed her clothes, serious and polite. Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital and lived in her parents' house in Toad Hill.
She mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name ranked first in the list of musicians. Her art even attracted the appreciation of experts, and her beauty attracted the envy of all major dancers.
How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song. The silver comb inlaid with shells was broken by her rhythm, and the bloody skirt was stained with wine.
Season after season, joy followed, and neither the autumn moon nor the spring breeze attracted her attention. Until her brother went to war, and then her aunt died, and the night passed, and the night came, and her beauty disappeared.
Lengma was at the door, so at last she gave her wife to a businessman. Who, first of all, stole money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.
She has been taking care of an empty boat in the estuary, with no companions except the bright moon and cold water. Sometimes in the middle of the night, she dreams of her victory and is awakened from her dream by her hot tears.
Her first guitar note made me sigh. Now, after listening to her story, I feel even sadder. We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? ! A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile.
Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year. My residence is near the town by the river, low and humid, and the house is surrounded by bitter reeds and yellow rushes.
What can you hear here in the morning and evening? ? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing. I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining.
Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, but they are rough and harsh, and they are harsh in my ears. Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt that my hearing was illuminated by wonderful music.
Don't leave us. Come, sit down. Play it for us again. Translate the travel notes of pipa for you. ... she was moved by my words, stood there for a while, and then sat down to play her strings-they sounded even sadder.
Although the tune was different from what she had played before, all the listeners covered their faces. But which of them cried the most? ? This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeves are wet.
7. Modern poetry with fences
The fence in the village behind
one
The fence is the fence of my hometown and my village (poem)
My father's shoulders are as big as mine.
One of my plastic sandals hit three places.
Patch summer, give children a real climb.
Leave it on the high branch.
A touch of light blue, a touch of shallow sadness.
A fence, and quietly disappeared.
You have been watching this autumn for thirty-four years.
Now we are docking the fence (poem) of the village after childhood.
Is relatively silent.
Our hoarse throat is lonely.
two
Shadow of the fence, stand at attention, be at ease, turn left.
Morning glory quietly read the dusk, with a calm expression.
A pink butterfly, catching the last ray of sunshine, practices "sit-ups"
Dogs Barking on the Fence —— The village behind the cucumber (poem) exposes the fence
The position of tomatoes and carrots
The wind is high and the moon is dark, the fence hole, and
That "mouth" tomato field
Do you still remember those youthful childhoods?
three
When did the fence become the tombstone of the village? The fence in the back village (poetry)
This pale leaf is growing. I miss you so much.
The autumn wind tore at the skirt of the white clouds.
And sing nursery rhymes.
Vines, constantly beating my late acacia.
A few pale blue flowers hid their faces and wept. .
four
The fence in the back village (poetry)
Hold the hand of the fence
Also let the autumn wind climb on my shoulder and break into houses.
If I could become another light blue
I shake it gently.
Stand with my old village.
guard
Poems about fences 1. Poems about fences
1, "Seclusion" Ming Yezi Qi
Cang Shi Hongquan secluded home, morning glory fence.
I don't know how much autumn is full. Lucy is cool and bloom is cool.
2, "The Second in the Village" Wang Yuan Cotton
Green hibiscus is used as a fence, and radish is hung on the eaves.
The carriage can't be muddy, and the firewood eats grass.
Lie down and watch "Return to the Field" and listen to "Song of Beating the Earth".
Yo-yo is the only way. What's wrong with a knife saw?
3, "Mountain Visitors Map" Yin Mingtang
In Ye Mao's hometown, mangroves are yellow, and dogs bark at the fence in the mountains.
There is nothing else for the meeting in the village. It must be when people come to borrow flowers.
4, "Tian Jia Shi Jue" loose yue.
The mastiff in the village rushed out of the fence and brought it if he wanted to call.
It's not that I forgot my machine too much. I stayed with that family that time.
5, "He Yong" Song Miaojian
Green hills are dotted with bamboo and short fences, just like the home of nymphs.
Love the Japanese-American green window wind, and the crane combs the flowers lightly.
2. The poem of the fence line
On the trip to pipa, I saw off guests on the banks of Xunyang River, and maple leaves and rushes rustled in autumn.
I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups, hoping to drink-but, alas, there is no music. Although we drank a lot of wine, we were not happy. When we were leaving each other, the river mysteriously widened in the direction of the full moon.
We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the host forgot to go home and the guests left. We followed the direction of the melody and asked the player's name, and the voice was interrupted ... and then she reluctantly answered.
We moved the boat closer to hers, invited her to join us, and summoned more wine and lanterns to start our party again. However, before she came to us, we called a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind her guitar from us.
... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings. Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.
She frowned, bent her fingers, and then started her music, letting her heart share everything with us bit by bit. She brushes the strings, twists them slowly, sweeps them and plucks them, first "Nishang" and then "Six Yao".
Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets. Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, so you can't swallow the spring scenery and flow under the ice. The ice spring is cold and astringent, and the strings condense, and the condensation will never stop.
The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice. A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.
Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk. The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.
She tied it thoughtfully on the rope, stood up and smoothed her clothes, serious and polite. Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital and lived in her parents' house in Toad Hill.
She mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name ranked first in the list of musicians. Her art even attracted the appreciation of experts, and her beauty attracted the envy of all major dancers.
How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song. The silver comb inlaid with shells was broken by her rhythm, and the bloody skirt was stained with wine.
Season after season, joy followed, and neither the autumn moon nor the spring breeze attracted her attention. Until her brother went to war, and then her aunt died, and the night passed, and the night came, and her beauty disappeared.
Lengma was at the door, so at last she gave her wife to a businessman. Who, first of all, stole money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.
She has been taking care of an empty boat in the estuary, with no companions except the bright moon and cold water. Sometimes in the middle of the night, she dreams of her victory and is awakened from her dream by her hot tears.
Her first guitar note made me sigh. Now, after listening to her story, I feel even sadder. We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? ! A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile.
Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year. My residence is near the town by the river, low and humid, and the house is surrounded by bitter reeds and yellow rushes.
What can you hear here in the morning and evening? ? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing. I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining.
Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, but they are rough and harsh, and they are harsh in my ears. Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt that my hearing was illuminated by wonderful music.
Don't leave us. Come, sit down. Play it for us again. Translate the travel notes of pipa for you. ... she was moved by my words, stood there for a while, and then sat down to play her strings-they sounded even sadder.
Although the tune was different from what she had played before, all the listeners covered their faces. But which of them cried the most? ? This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeves are wet.
3. Modern poetry with fences
The fence in the village behind
one
The fence is the fence of my hometown and my village (poem)
My father's shoulders are as big as mine.
One of my plastic sandals hit three places.
Patch summer, give children a real climb.
Leave it on the high branch.
A touch of light blue, a touch of shallow sadness.
A fence, and quietly disappeared.
You have been watching this autumn for thirty-four years.
Now we are docking the fence (poem) of the village after childhood.
Is relatively silent.
Our hoarse throat is lonely.
two
Shadow of the fence, stand at attention, be at ease, turn left.
Morning glory quietly read the dusk, with a calm expression.
A pink butterfly, catching the last ray of sunshine, practices "sit-ups"
Dogs Barking on the Fence —— The village behind the cucumber (poem) exposes the fence
The position of tomatoes and carrots
The wind is high and the moon is dark, the fence hole, and
That "mouth" tomato field
Do you still remember those youthful childhoods?
three
When did the fence become the tombstone of the village? The fence in the back village (poetry)
This pale leaf is growing. I miss you so much.
The autumn wind tore at the skirt of the white clouds.
And sing nursery rhymes.
Vines, constantly beating my late acacia.
A few pale blue flowers hid their faces and wept. .
four
The fence in the back village (poetry)
Hold the hand of the fence
Also let the autumn wind climb on my shoulder and break into houses.
If I could become another light blue
I shake it gently.
Stand with my old village.
guard