Poems describing willow branches

One of Tang Li Shangyin's "Playing Friends": "How many passes are there in the Qing Dynasty? See Nanshan at the corner of Liu Shao Building. "

Song Ouyang Xiu's "Life Test" words: "The moon arrives at the willow tip, and people make an appointment after dusk."

One spring night in Los Angeles, I heard the flute and Li Bai.

Yu Di's dark flying sound scattered into the spring breeze in Los Angeles.

Who can't get homesick when they hear that there is another village in the serenade?

If you don't catch the whip when you get on the horse, you will rebel against Yang Liuzhi.

Dismount and play the flute, worrying about killing guests.

(Northern Dynasty Yuefu "Cross Blowing Songs and Folding Yang Liuzhi")

The mountains in May are still full of snow, only cold, and the grass can't see the grass.

Spring can only be imagined in the flute "Folding Willow", but it has never been seen in reality.

The soldiers fought the enemy in the golden drum during the day and slept in the saddle at night.

I hope that the sword hanging around my waist can quickly pacify the border and serve my country.

(Tang Yue Xia Sai Qu)

The Yellow River is getting farther and farther away, because it flows in the middle of the Yellow River, and Yumenguan is located on a lonely mountain.

Why use the elegy of willow to complain about the delay of spring, old Yumenguan, a spring breeze is not blowing!

(Don Wang Zhihuan's "Liangzhou Ci")

The weeping willows are full of silk, and spring comes to weave parting.

Pedestrians climb, and now when my heart is breaking.

(Don Dai Shulun's "Willow on the Dike")

Outside the city, the spring breeze blows the wine flag and pedestrians wave at sunset.

Chang 'an is a stranger to infinite trees, and only weeping willows can leave.

(Don Liu Yuxi, "Yang Liuzhi")

Seeing Yang Liuchun by the roadside, I folded it all again.

I'm going to Nianguan this year, too, so I won't send it to others.

(Don Shi Jian's "Broken Willow")

Among many farewell poems, Linjiang Willow written by Yong, a poet in the Tang Dynasty, has a unique flavor:

The ancient embankment curled up and a tree smoked.

If the silk does not stop, keep the boat.