Author: Dai Wangshu
Holding an oil-paper umbrella alone
Wandering in the long, long
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to see
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
She does.
Clove-like color,
Lilac-like fragrance,
Sad as cloves,
Mourning in the rain,
Sadness and hesitation;
She lingers in this lonely rain lane,
Hold an oil-paper umbrella
Like me,
Like me.
Walking silently,
Cold, sad, melancholy.
She approached quietly.
Get close and throw again.
Breathing eyes,
She floated by.
Like a dream,
As sad and confused as a dream.
Floating like a dream
A lilac field,
I passed this girl by;
She left quietly, left,
A crumbling fence,
Walk through this rainy path.
In the lamentation of the rain,
Remove her color,
Spread her fragrance,
Disappeared, even hers
Breathing eyes,
Lilac is melancholy.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella alone
Wandering in the long, long
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to float over.
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
Out of context-Bian Zhilin
You stand on the bridge and watch the scenery.
The landscape observer is watching you upstairs.
The bright moon decorated your window,
You decorated other people's dreams.
After the rain
Author: Xi Murong
Life can also be a poem.
If you can let me move on slowly
Quietly looking forward to finding
The dusk in my arms is getting deeper and deeper.
Through the unknown mud
In the dark clouds
Finally shed tears for everyone
Missed or not missed encounters
In fact, life can always be a poem in the end.
After the rainstorm
My mind will be cleaner.
If you are willing to wait
All the floating clouds
Eventually, it will all flow into a river.
[The first model essay network www.DiYiFanWen.com arranges this article, and the copyright belongs to the original author and the original source. 〗
Shu Ting's << To Oak Tree >>
If I love you-/I will never learn to climb the Campbell flower,/I will show off myself on your high branch;
/If I love you-/Never learn from spoony birds,/Repeat monotonous songs for the shade;
/It's not just like a fountain/It brings cool comfort all year round; /Not just like a dangerous mountain peak,
/increase your height,/set off your dignity. /even sunshine/even spring rain
No, these are not enough. I must be a kapok beside you.
/Stand with you as the image of a tree. /root, clenched in the ground;
/Leaves, lingering in the clouds. Every time a gust of wind blows, we greet each other.
But no one understands us. You have your copper branches and iron stems.
/Like a knife, like a sword, like a halberd; /I have my red flowers,/like a heavy sigh,
/Like a heroic torch/We share the cold wave and lightning;
/We * * * enjoy the misty rainbow; /seemingly separated forever, but they are dependent for life.
/This is great love,/Loyalty is here/Love/Not only your stalwart body,
/I also love your stand,/the land under your feet.
Author: Yu Guangzhong
Works: Listening to the night in the mountains
Content:
Forever mountain night
Everything is like a dream.
What could be better than complete silence?
More resistant to listening?
No matter how long and busy the history is.
There will always be a moment.
There's no need to argue, is there?
But what about the wind? you said
Wind? That's the transit of time
Occasionally a little
A little echo
Dai Wangshu's "I Use Broken Palm"
I used my injured palm.
Explore this vast land:
This corner has been reduced to ashes,
There is only blood and mud in that corner? nbsp
This lake should be my hometown,
(In spring, the embankment is full of flowers.
There is a strange smell when the tender willow branches are broken. )
I touched the coolness of seaweed and water;
The snow peaks in Changbai Mountain are freezing cold.
The water and sediment of the Yellow River slip through the fingers;
The rice fields in Jiangnan are so soft ... now there is only Artemisia scoparia;
Litchi flowers in Lingnan are lonely and withered,
There, I was immersed in the bitter water of the South China Sea without fishing boats. ...
Invisible palms swept the mountains without complaint,
Fingers stained with blood and ash, palms stained with darkness,
Only the far corner is still intact,
Warm, clear, firm and vigorous spring.
On it, I stroked it with my broken palm,
Like a lover's soft hair, a baby's milk.
I put all my strength in my palm.
Put it on, send love and all hope,
Because there is only the sun, no spring,
Will dispel the haze and bring Su Sheng,
Because it's the only place where we don't live like animals,
Die like an ant ... there, eternal China!
Shu Ting's motherland, my dear motherland.
I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river.
Tired songs that have been spun for hundreds of years;
I am a miner's lamp blackened on your forehead,
Do what you do in the tunnel of history;
I am a withered ear of rice; It is a roadbed that has been in disrepair for a long time;
This is a barge on the beach.
Draw the rope deep
Pull into your shoulder;
-the motherland!
I'm poor,
I am sad.
I am your ancestor.
Painful hope,
It's a flying sleeve.
Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years;
-the motherland!
Beautiful modern poetry
Alleys in the rain
Author: Dai Wangshu
Holding an oil-paper umbrella alone
Wandering in the long, long
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to see
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
She does.
Clove-like color,
Lilac-like fragrance,
Sad as cloves,
Mourning in the rain,
Sadness and hesitation;
She lingers in this lonely rain lane,
Hold an oil-paper umbrella
Like me,
Like me.
Walking silently,
Cold, sad, melancholy.
She approached quietly.
Get close and throw again.
Breathing eyes,
She floated by.
Like a dream,
As sad and confused as a dream.
Floating like a dream
A lilac field,
I passed this girl by;
She left quietly, left,
A crumbling fence,
Walk through this rainy path.
In the lamentation of the rain,
Remove her color,
Spread her fragrance,
Disappeared, even hers
Breathing eyes,
Lilac is melancholy.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella alone
Wandering in the long, long
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to float over.
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
Out of context-Bian Zhilin
You stand on the bridge and watch the scenery.
The landscape observer is watching you upstairs.
The bright moon decorated your window,
You decorated other people's dreams.
After the rain
Author: Xi Murong
Life can also be a poem.
If you can let me move on slowly
Quietly looking forward to finding
The dusk in my arms is getting deeper and deeper.
Through the unknown mud
In the dark clouds
Finally shed tears for everyone
Missed or not missed encounters
In fact, life can always be a poem in the end.
After the rainstorm
My mind will be cleaner.
If you are willing to wait
All the floating clouds
Eventually, it will all flow into a river.
[The first model essay network www.DiYiFanWen.com arranges this article, and the copyright belongs to the original author and the original source. 〗
Shu Ting's << To Oak Tree >>
If I love you-/I will never learn to climb the Campbell flower,/I will show off myself on your high branch;
/If I love you-/Never learn from spoony birds,/Repeat monotonous songs for the shade;
/It's not just like a fountain/It brings cool comfort all year round; /Not just like a dangerous mountain peak,
/increase your height,/set off your dignity. /even sunshine/even spring rain
No, these are not enough. I must be a kapok beside you.
/Stand with you as the image of a tree. /root, clenched in the ground;
/Leaves, lingering in the clouds. Every time a gust of wind blows, we greet each other.
But no one understands us. You have your copper branches and iron stems.
/Like a knife, like a sword, like a halberd; /I have my red flowers,/like a heavy sigh,
/Like a heroic torch/We share the cold wave and lightning;
/We * * * enjoy the misty rainbow; /seemingly separated forever, but they are dependent for life.
/This is great love,/Loyalty is here/Love/Not only your stalwart body,
/I also love your stand,/the land under your feet. Wang Guozhen's life is always beautiful.
Life is always good,
Without much pain,
It is that our minds are not open enough.
Not too little happiness,
But we don't know how to live.
When you are sad, write a poem.
When you are happy, sing a song.
No matter what falls from the sky,
Life is always beautiful!
Author: Yu Guangzhong
Works: Listening to the night in the mountains
Content:
Forever mountain night
Everything is like a dream.
What could be better than complete silence?
More resistant to listening?
No matter how long and busy the history is.
There will always be a moment.
There's no need to argue, is there?
But what about the wind? you said
Wind? That's the transit of time
Occasionally a little
A little echo
Dai Wangshu's "I Use Broken Palm"
I used my injured palm.
Explore this vast land:
This corner has been reduced to ashes,
There is only blood and mud in that corner? nbsp
This lake should be my hometown,
(In spring, the embankment is full of flowers.
There is a strange smell when the tender willow branches are broken. )
I touched the coolness of seaweed and water;
The snow peaks in Changbai Mountain are freezing cold.
The water and sediment of the Yellow River slip through the fingers;
The rice fields in Jiangnan are so soft ... now there is only Artemisia scoparia;
Litchi flowers in Lingnan are lonely and withered,
There, I was immersed in the bitter water of the South China Sea without fishing boats. ...
Invisible palms swept the mountains without complaint,
Fingers stained with blood and ash, palms stained with darkness,
Only the far corner is still intact,
Warm, clear, firm and vigorous spring.
On it, I stroked it with my broken palm,
Like a lover's soft hair, a baby's milk.
I put all my strength in my palm.
Put it on, send love and all hope,
Because there is only the sun, no spring,
Will dispel the haze and bring Su Sheng,
Because it's the only place where we don't live like animals,
Die like an ant ... there, eternal China!
Shu Ting's motherland, my dear motherland.
I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river.
Tired songs that have been spun for hundreds of years;
I am a miner's lamp blackened on your forehead,
Do what you do in the tunnel of history;
I am a withered ear of rice; It is a roadbed that has been in disrepair for a long time;
This is a barge on the beach.
Draw the rope deep
Pull into your shoulder;
-the motherland!
I'm poor,
I am sad.
I am your ancestor.
Painful hope,
It's a flying sleeve.
Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years;
-the motherland!
I am your brand-new ideal,
Beautiful modern poetry
Just broke free from the spider web of myth;
I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow;
I am your laughing vortex with tears hanging;
I am the newly painted white starting line;
This is crimson dawn.
It is sprayed;
-the motherland!
I am one billionth of you.
Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters;
With your scarred breasts,
raise
Lost me, considerate me, boiling me;
And then from my flesh and blood
get
Yours; Abundance, your glory, your freedom;
-the motherland,
My dear motherland!
Barcos de papel
I used to be happy.
Fold many paper boats
Throw them into a dead pool with no way out.
No complaints
I'm still folding paper boats.
On a lonely night
Prepare a warm harbor for them.
No complaints.
I have no way out. I have a problem.
Who can give me a harbor?
Let me also complain.
& lt generation >
Gu Cheng
The night gave me black eyes,
I use it to find the light.