Good rain knows the season, when spring comes.
Sneak into the night with the wind, moisten things silently.
The wild path is dark, and the river is bright.
Look at the red and wet place, the flowers in Jinguancheng are heavy.
2. Du Fu? Delighting in Rain on a Spring Night.
Good rain knows the season, when spring comes.
Sneak into the night wind and moisten things silently.
Wild trails and clouds are all black, river boats.
Look at the red and wet Li Minghua.
3. Du Fu's Autumn Wind Breaking the Cottage
In August and autumn, the wind roared and rolled up my three hairs. Hair flew over the river and sprinkled on the periphery of the river. The highest one hangs a long forest tip, and the lower one floats to Shentang 'ao.
The children in Nancun bully me, and I can't stand being a thief in the opposite direction and openly carrying Mao into the bamboo forest. My lips are burnt, my mouth is dry, and I can't breathe. When I came back, I sighed at my staff.
In an instant, the wind will set the color of the clouds and ink, and the autumn will be bleak and dark. This cloth has been as cold as iron for many years, and Joule has been lying down and cracking. There is no dry place in the bedside table, and the feet are numb with rain. What's the point of getting wet all night?
There are tens of millions of buildings in Ande, which greatly protect all the smiles of the poor in the world, and the wind and rain are as quiet as mountains. Oh! When I suddenly see this house in front of me, I will freeze to death alone!
4. Du Fu's "Ascending the Mountain"
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.
5. Du Fu's moonlit night
In Fuzhou, far away, she is looking at the moonlight, looking at it alone from the window of her room.
For our boys and girls, poor little baby, too young to know where the capital is.
Her cloudy hair is sweet with mist, and her jade-white shoulders are cold in the moonlight.
When can we lie on the screen again and look at the bright light and stop crying? .