The shed will go back to the rose garden. Please don't be sad.
If the flood comes, it will engulf all life.
Noah's Ark is your guide in the center of the storm. Please don't be sad.
Hafiz
In the desolate and dim Woods,
Have you ever seen,
A singer is singing about his love and pain?
His smile,
His tears,
And those gentle eyes full of worries,
Have you ever met one?
-Pushkin is a singer
There will never be a moonlit night like that again,
The light is blurred,
Through the dark Woods,
Pour the quiet light,
Vaguely, vaguely reflects the beauty of my lover.
-Pushkin's Moon
A Grain of Sand william blake See a world in a grain of sand, a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower. Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.
when you are old
When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy,
Take a nap by the fire, please write down this poem.
Read slowly and recall the tenderness of your eyes in the past.
Looking back on their past shadows,
How many people love you when you are young and happy,
Worship your beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity,
Only one person loves your pilgrim soul,
Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face;
I hung my head, by the red fire,
Whispering sadly about the passing of love,
On the mountain overhead, it walked slowly.
A face is hidden among a group of stars.
(translated by Yuan Kejia)
After a long silence
Speak after a long silence; Right,
Don't alienate some couples or die,
The lampshade hides the unfriendly light,
The curtains blocked the unfriendly night,
We just talked and discussed.
The highest theme of art and poetry:
The aging of the body is wisdom, youth,
We are in love, really ignorant.
(Translated by Bian Zhilin)
Lawrence (1885— 193 1) was a famous British poet and novelist in the early 20th century.
Influenced by Freud's psychoanalysis, he published love poems and flowers.
Three themes often appear in his poems: nature, sex and love.
The second most precious rose
When she got up in the morning,
I stared at her obsessively,
Yushu linchuang
The sunlight outlined her.
White light shines on the shoulders:
Hui Jin's ribs were infected,
Slightly swaying breasts,
Just like two famous Dijon flowers-yellow roses.
It's opening.
Water dripped from her.
Jade shoulders are like silver,
Like a wet and trembling rose, I listened
The crisp sound of white petals blooming.
In front of the sunny window
She's covered in Hui Jin.
Emit the light of the sun.
It seems that roses are fighting for beauty and fragrance.
The third most precious rose
From the Hisar River.
The picked roses have fallen, and the lavender petals on the tablecloth
Like a boat, drifting on the river with the waves.
Waiting for the fairy wind to wake them up in laziness.
She smiled at me across the table,
She said she loved me and I got on the boat.
Blowing on the shallows between cups.
It's full of kisses, and it can hardly float to the surface.
(translated by Ye Xingguo)
[France]
Lamartin (1790-1869) is an important romantic literature in the first half of the 9th century.
The poet Meditation is regarded as an epoch-making work, which opens up a new way of thinking for French romantic poetry.
Earth. Poetry has a strong religious flavor, regards life as the source of pain and seeks comfort from nature.
autumn
Hello, there are green trees on it!
Yellow leaves are floating on the grass!
Hello, last minute! Natural sadness
Suitable for people's pain and make my eyes happy.
I walked on a lonely path in meditation;
I want to take one last look.
This pale sun, its faint light
Barely shine into the dark forest under my feet.
Yes, in the dying autumn of nature,
I am more interested in its hazy appearance;
This is a good friend's farewell and an everlasting death.
The last smile on the closed lips.
Therefore, although I mourn the hope that my life will disappear,
Although I am ready to leave this field of life,
I still look back, with envious eyes,
Take a look at the happiness I have never enjoyed.
Earth, sun, valley, gentle nature,
I'm dying, and I still owe you a tear!
How sweet the air is! How beautiful the sunshine is!
How beautiful the sun is to dying people!
This cup is a mixture of manna and bile.
Now I'm going to drink it all:
At the bottom of the cup where I swig my life,
Maybe there is a drop of honey left in it!
Maybe a bright future will be left to me.
A desperate and happy mother!
Maybe there are people among all beings I don't know.
Can understand my heart and correspond with me! ……
Send fragrance to the breeze when the flowers fall;
This is its farewell to sunshine and life.
I'm gone, my soul, as I lay dying,
Like a harmonious and desolate voice.
(translated by Qian Chunkun)
Hugo (1802- 1885),1an outstanding French writer in the 9th century, dabbled in poetry.
Spoken English, drama, etc. Reflects the history of French society for a century. His poems are full of color and language.
He is a typical representative of positive romanticism.
Ever since I put my lips ...
Ever since I put my lips in your ever-overflowing bottle,
Ever since I put my pale forehead near your palm,
Because sometimes I breathe the gentle breath of your soul,
The fragrance buried in the shadow;
Because I sometimes learn from your words.
Listen to your mysterious voice;
Ever since I saw you cry, ever since I saw you smile,
My mouth is facing your mouth and my eyes are facing your eyes;
Now I see your star shining on my head,
Alas! Can always hide, for no reason;
Ever since I saw a flower on your tree of years,
Falling, falling into the waves of my life;
Now I can tell the fleeting Shaoguang:
Go away! Keep going away! I will always be young!
You disappear with your gaunt flowers,
There is a flower in my heart, and no one can pick it.
My jade pot to quench my thirst is full,
Your wings are flying, you can't splash rain in it.
Your ashes are far from enough to put out my spiritual fire!
Your forgetting is far from enough to devour my love!
(Translated by Wen Jia)
The poet went into the field.
The poet went to the field; He was grateful,
He praised, he was listening to the inner harp.
Seeing him coming, flowers, all kinds of flowers,
Shade the ruby flowers,
Those flowers that are better than peacocks,
Little golden flowers, little blue flowers,
In order to welcome him, everyone waved a bouquet.
Some people bowed slightly to him, others made charming gestures,
Because it conforms to the identity of beauty, they
"Look, our lover is coming!" He said affectionately.
Those lush trees that grow in the Woods,
Full of sunshine and shadows, my voice became hoarse,
All these old people, yew, bodhi, maple,
A wrinkled willow, an old oak,
Elms with black branches and moss,
Just as theologians look at the custodians of classics,
Give him a big gift and bow down to the end.
Their leafy heads and ivy beards,
They stared at the calm light on his forehead,
Whispering in a low voice: "It's him! This is the visionary! "
(translated by Jin Zhiping)
Come on! Invisible flute
Come on! -An invisible flute
It is ringing leisurely in the orchard.
The most peaceful song
This is a shepherd boy's song.
Under the oak tree, a pool of calm water,
Start the indigo microwave oven,-
The happiest song
This is the song of a bird.
I hope nothing bothers you.
Love each other! Love forever! ——
The most satisfying song is the lover's song.
(Translated by Wen Jia)
Yi Tong
On the horizon of the brown mountains,
The sun, this brilliant flower,
At dusk, bend your face to the ground.
A newly blooming chrysanthemum, beside the wheat field, on the gray wall that is about to collapse in the weeds,
Timidly radiate innocent and white round light; This little flower, from the broken wall,
Staring at the one in the eternal blue sky
Streaming superstars are pouring out.
"As for me, I am also shining!" It said to it.
(Translated by Wen Jia)
Baudelaire (1821-1867), 19 th century French poet, poetry anthology "Evil"
Flowers can be regarded as an epoch-making work that initiated modernism. Poets often use ugliness, horror and madness.
Crazy images reproduce social reality. He is an important representative of the early symbolism poetry school.
A kind of melancholy
Rainy moon, angry with the whole city,
Facing the pale residents of the nearby cemetery,
Pour it out of the jar, as cold as a piece of paper,
Spread death to the foggy suburbs.
My cat is looking for grass stalks on the square brick floor.
Constantly shaking the thin and sore body;
The soul of the old poet lingers in the canyon,
Bitter words with a rustling ghost.
The clock is lamenting, smoking wood
Pendulum with falsetto and cold;
A stinking hand is playing,
The ominous legacy of this edema old woman,
Handsome attendant of the queen of hearts and spades.
Tells a sad story about the lost love.
Trouble follows four.
When the low-weight sky is pressed down like a big cover
The spirit tortured by long-term boredom,
When the sky around us shoots at us
Black dawn more tragic than night;
When the earth becomes a damp prison,
There, hope flies like a bat,
Waving timid wings at the wall,
Hit your head on the rotten roof;
When the dense rain spreads in all directions,
Imitating the shape of prison bars,
A group of silent spiders are dirty,
Climb over and weave a web in our minds,
Several big clocks are beating wildly at the same time,
Generation screamed horribly in the air,
Like a group of homeless ghosts,
A sudden burst of stubborn wailing.
-Long funeral procession, no drums and no music,
Walking slowly in my soul, hope
Failure, crying, and repressed anxiety,
Put a black flag on my drooping head.
Sonnets in autumn
Your eyes are crystal clear, and it says to me:
"Stranger lover, tell me what's good for me."
-Be cute and don't talk! Except archaeopteryx
Honest and naive, everything stimulates my heart,
Unwilling to reveal this terrible secret to you,
Its black legend was written by fire,
Your hand invited me to sleep, hypnotic woman.
I hate passion and the spirit that makes me miserable!
Sweet love, Raman, the goddess of love in the post.
The deadly bow was dark and hidden.
I know everyone in the armory,
Sin, terror and madness! -Oh, daisies are weak!
You don't enter autumn like the sun,
My Margaret, so pale and cold.
(translated by Guo Hongan)
Willem (1844— 1896) is a famous French symbolist poet. Wei LUN's poem is in
He preached pessimism and decadence in thought, but made pioneering contributions in art.
"The first is music" and the second is "the combination of light and darkness", which is regarded as the principle of symbolism.
On the manifesto.
moonlight
Your soul is a selected landscape,
Masks and bergamot dances are charming,
Playing the lyre and dancing in them
Under the strange disguise, it is almost melancholy.
While they were singing love songs,
Singing about victorious love and happy life,
They don't seem to believe in their own happiness,
Their songs blend in with the moonlight.
Quiet moonlight, melancholy and beautiful,
She let the birds fall asleep in the forest,
Let those fountains sob with ecstasy,
The fountain is slender and light in the middle of the stone carving.
(Luo Luo translation)
Rambo (1854- 189 1), a famous French poet, shared this honor with Malamei and Wei Erlun.
Wei is the three main representatives of symbolist poetry. Vowel letters are the classics of symbolic poetry.
With his rich imagination, the poet established synaesthesia among sound, color and smell.
vowel
A black, e white, I red, u green, o blue, vowel,
One day, I will tell you your secret story.
A fly shining around a rotting thing.
A furry black corset wrapped tightly when humming,
Dark bay, e is steam, tent is white,
Bai Di, umbrella flowers tremble and glacier spears are arrogant;
I am a purple robe, coughing up blood, and my lips are beautiful.
When he is fascinated by anger or confession, he will laugh;
U is the cycle, the sacred vibration of the green ocean,
The tranquility of grazing grassland, the alchemy of scholars
The calm wrinkles left on the broad forehead,
O is the supreme horn, making a strange sound.
It broke the silence of the world and the angel world:
Oh, Omega, the purple light in her eyes!
(translated by Qian Chunkun)
French writer Gourmon (1858— 19 15) is one of the authoritative critics of symbolism.
There are not many works, but they are quite distinctive. My hair is selected from Gourmon's poetry collection Simone, and I feel very weak.
Erotic constructs the artistic conception of pastoral poetry in rambling scattered images.
Graph method
Simone, in your thick hair,
There is a great mystery in this.
You smell like hay. You smell like hay.
The smell of rocks where wild animals have lived;
You smell of leather, you smell of leather.
The taste of new wheat;
You smell like firewood. You smell like firewood.
The smell of bread served in the morning;
You take it along the collapsed wall.
The smell of flowers;
You smell like a sapling. You smell like a sapling.
The smell of ivy washed by rain;
You have something to cut at sunset.
The smell of rushes and ferns;
You smell of holly and moss,
You pick the seeds in the shade of the fence.
The smell of yellow weeds,
You smell of plantagenet and nettle,
You smell of alfalfa and milk;
You smell of fennel and fennel;
You smell of walnuts. You smell of walnuts.
Picking, ripe fruit smell;
You have a tree full of flowers.
The smell of willows and bodhi trees;
You smell like honey. You smell like honey.
Through the breath of life of the leaves;
You smell of earth and rivers;
You smell of love and fire.
Simone, in your thick hair forest
There is a great mystery in this.
(translated by Qian Chunkun)
Ai Lvya (1895— 1952) is one of the most important French poets in the 20th century.
Ragon, Brighton and others jointly launched the surrealist movement, and their poems all had French lyric biographies.
Style, delicate and full of emotion, novel and peculiar image.
I am not alone.
fill up
Delicious fresh fruit
strand
Colorful flowers
Outstanding
In the arms of the sun
happy
Like an intimate bird.
be as happy as a lark
Because a drop of rain
More beautiful
More beautiful than the clear sky in the morning.
loyal
I'm talking about a garden
I dreamed, but I fell in love.