The rain is falling, listening to the rain in Tang poetry and Song poetry. You are in a dream of "spring night rain curtain, high pillow and long warbler" You are in the surprise of "good rain knows the season, when spring comes" You are in the regret of "but now I think of that night, that storm, and I don't know how many flowers have been folded". You are in the sadness that it rained in the Qingming Festival and pedestrians on the road wanted to break their souls. You are in the memory of "Four hundred and eighty temples in the southern dynasties, and how many terraced fields are misty and rainy" in the melancholy of "the wine wakes people far away at night, and the wind and rain fall to the west tower". You are in the lovesickness of "When I ask you to come back, it rains late in the autumn pool".
It is raining. I am the melancholy girl in Dai Wangshu's Rain Lane, wandering alone in the long and lonely rain lane with an oil-paper umbrella. How I long to meet you in this rainy season, and open a lotus smile with affection.
It is raining, and I am waiting for you in the blue misty rain. How deep the feelings are, the rain line wet my purple clothes, your promise wet, and my bitterness turned into misty rain.
The sound of falling rain beats the lintel of the years and washes away the traces of the past. This little rain is the dream of young people singing and dancing, and this intermittent rain is their hatred on the boat when they are listening to the rain in their prime. This drizzling rain is "now listening to the rain monk's house, the stars are on the temples", and the years have passed.
It's raining and I'm listening under the eaves. Sparse drizzle, willow lotus flowers rising smoke, birds returning to the horizon. Thoughts fluttered in the rain.
It's raining and I'm listening under the eaves. Listen to a wonderful piece of music and a story. Listen to a poem about the secret of elegant rain.
It's raining and I'm listening under the eaves. Listening to the rain hitting the banana, the falling flowers turn into tears between the eyebrows, listening to the gentle call of relatives in my hometown turn into bright rain to warm people's hearts, and listening to the songs of joys and sorrows when the moon is full.
It's raining and I'm listening under the eaves. Listen to the sound of everything being washed, listen to the sound of thoughts flowing, and listen to the sincere dialogue of the heart.
It's raining, so I climb up to the sound of rain and swim in the rainy world.