The poems about pastoral landscapes are as follows:
1. Wang Wei of the Tang Dynasty in "Zhuli Pavilion": Sitting alone in the secluded bamboo, playing the piano and roaring loudly. People in the deep forest don't know that the bright moon comes to shine.
2. "Twelve Pastoral Miscellaneous Poems on a Spring Day" by Fan Chengda of the Song Dynasty: The sound of roosters in the deep alley of willow flowers at noon, the tips of mulberry leaves are not green yet. Nothing happened while I was sitting there sleeping. The window was full of windows and I could see silkworms growing on a sunny day. The earth is about to stir and the rain is coming frequently, and thousands of grasses and flowers are blooming. The wild border behind the house is still green and beautiful, and the neighbors are whipping bamboo shoots over the wall. The two wheat fields in the high fields are connected with the green mountains, and the low fields near the water are green and unplowed. The village is full of peach blossoms, and the village is full of spring flowers, and the singing drums pass through the Qingming Festival.
The first ripe Dumao firewood in the old basin is brought to the Tiantou Festival. Don't be dissatisfied with the taste of the witch lady, the flag pavilion official wine is more gray. The money-burning drums below the club are like thunder, and the setting sun helps the drunkard to return. The green branches are all over the ground and the flowers are scattered all over. I know it is the children and grandchildren coming to fight with grass. The alleys are noisy with the wind blowing from the east, and the carriages and horses are noisy like smoke in the spring. Don't tie the cow to the road in front of the door. Move it to the west of the door and tie it to Qibian. Cold food flower branches are planted all over the head, and there are a few small boats in the green skirt and green mantle.
I visit the mountain temple once a year, and if I don’t go to Lingyan, I will go to Tiger Hill. The people in Guoli come back to worship and recommend green plums to the newly brewed mash. The long road is close to the city gate. Let me warm you in my thatched pavilion. I have a good mood when I look for spring in my step, and the rain is lingering on my hoofs, and the water is like a cup. He went forward with the help of a yellow dog, and suddenly turned back when he reached the stream. The fruits of the garden are rewarded for the hard work, but the children are scratched by the birds. Thorn needles have been inserted into the fan bamboo shoots path, and fish outlines have been laid to cover the cherries.
It is an auspicious day to start planting rice bags at the beginning of the day, and thunder and rain continue all night in Nanshan. This year we don’t owe water to the rice fields, so take a look at the small bridge after the new rise. The border is full of green spring vegetables under the mulberry trees, and the heart of the mulberry is green and tender, and the mustard moss is fertile. I wash my clothes in Xitou and sell them in a shop. At dusk I return home wrapped in salt and sold wine.
3. "Twelve Pastoral Miscellaneous Poems in Late Spring" by Fan Chengda of the Song Dynasty: The purple and green water shield rolls are fragrant with lotus, and the buds of jade snow celery are pulled out and slender. I collected hair from the creek to provide for the evening, and stayed in Hengtang with a short tent in the wind and rain. The old lotuses in the lake are newly turned, and the little lotuses have no trace of swelling. Taking into account the strong wind and waves in the plum weather, I planted reed roots from the outside water. The butterflies both enter the cauliflower, and no one comes to Tian's house for a long time. Chickens fly over the fence and dogs bark, knowing that a merchant is coming to buy tea.
The water in the skirt is full of green Pingzhou, and it is already a little cold and too lazy to go out. Frogs are singing in the dusk, and the rice field is very autumn this year. The morning air is cool in the newly green garden, and in the morning the fleas come out to look at the rice seedlings. All the flowers are blooming, and the mulberry trees are blooming. The wind carries the fragrance of asafoetida. Thirty-year-old silkworms are forbidden to stay behind closed doors, leaving no trace of their neighbors. It's still dawn and the wind is clear, and we meet again during the mulberry picking season. Around the dirty water, half of the hut is open.
It is difficult to protect the shore without looking at the wild rice plants. The boat can carry Fengtian back. The grass needles are fragrant, soft and gradually become velvety, and are fluffy, sweet and sour, half dyed red. The children are laughing when they return from collecting, and a small bamboo cage is hung high on the head of the staff. The Haiyu River is full of wind and waves, and fresh fish and vegetables are coming back in spring. On the river pufferfish, buds sprout and shoots, and neem seeds bloom on the rocks. Grain Rain is like silk and dust, and the floating wax in the boiled bottle is trying something new. The peonies have broken calyxes, the cherries are ripe, and the spring flowers are not allowed to fly.
After the rain, I got up late in the mountains, and the skylight was half dim. The old man lay on his pillow and listened to the song of the oriole, while the boy opened the door to let the swallows fly. There are few blackbirds flying into the forest, and the smoke from the front mountain reaches Chai Fei. The little boy made a boat like a leaf and returned alone in a duck formation.