Chen.
I'm going to Lushan Mountain, taking dreams as a horse and starting tonight. Riding after the wind, the moment is a thousand miles, a thousand clouds, a thousand boats and cars, a thousand bright moons and a thousand poems. Lushan mountain! I look at you from the bronze mirror at dusk and dawn: your ups and downs, tall and straight peaks, and poems about you that linger like clouds all year round.
I will go to Lushan without hesitation. I have been away from her for too long. Rows of time and trees, rows of roads and songs fell in front of me. I traveled through history and books, across balconies or car wars, and went on dates with poets of all ages.
Tao Yuanming
Building a house is human, and there are no horses and chariots. Ask what you can do, your heart is far from self-prejudice. Under the hedge of picking chrysanthemums,
See Nanshan leisurely. The mountains are getting better and better, and the birds are back. That makes sense. I forgot what I wanted to say.
All poets are alcoholics, and all poets love flowers. As long as there is wine and flowers, it should be the hometown of poets. Perhaps it should be said that the poet's hometown is a place with wine and flowers.
That year, fate fell on your head, and chaos became a hair in the wind. You sang "Go and Come Back" and returned to your hometown at the foot of Lushan Mountain. All the flowers, trees and streams held an unprecedented ceremony in the valley. Covered up your way here.
You graze, you farm, you take the moon lotus home, you pick chrysanthemums, you get drunk, and you climb high to write new poems. One glass of wine burns another glass of wine in your chest, and your sigh makes a stream clean and colorful. Your weak hands are industrious, and you have caught the hoe of farmers' labor. May future generations cultivate men and weave women in the scenery of Peach Blossom Garden. Your heart goes with the scenery, boundless and unknowable. You are not only silent, because you are great. The birth of great poems is also the poet's eternal life. Everyone knows that in that sunny and blue morning, you leisurely face the chrysanthemums picked in Nanshan, which is the essence of soul and poetry. Squatting down becomes a leisurely chrysanthemum. I don't know whether it is your turn to pick chrysanthemums or your turn to pick chrysanthemums. Maybe you should have been born under a sparse hedge and let the chrysanthemums bloom outside. In fact, you all know very well: the world is very big, and nature is the pastoral where your soul lives. So you met: in a bleak season, laughing at the world.
Lipper
The purple mist is illuminated by sunlight, and the waterfall hangs in front of the mountain.
On the high cliff, it seems to be thousands of feet high, which makes people think that the Milky Way has fallen from heaven to earth.
A lotus-like golden mountain reveals the figure cut out of the sky. I want to add colors, sounds, clouds and Woods to the embrace of the mountains; I want to accept the distinction between poetry laurel and wine sacrifice, wade through the river of genius and poetry, and dedicate wine to Li Bai.
Loose as dusk. A white dress, hidden in the transparent oblique view of Jiangnan. Your eyes are over the towering peaks, and sharp pens and swords are hidden in the wide cotton robe. Raise your hand and you can grab a sword from the turbulent sea of clouds. Heroism approached in an instant, illuminating the language.
In the Tang Dynasty, wine was suitable for poetry, not for poets. From Shu Dao to Chang 'an, from Chang 'an to Lushan, you follow a constant habit in my life, but this is a stable and even fate. From the secular to the soul, there is only one invisible door. Li Bai manages artistic conception in it, and occasionally takes out some, which stunned the eyes of crazy people in previous dynasties. A cold sword, from the battlefield of poetry, poems, inner pain and unparalleled talent, walked out of the eternal farewell with a bang.
Taibai's poems are written in the sky, and flying life hangs on the cliff. Sacrifice the heart lamp, burn the heart incense, Qian Shan Wangu, purple smoke does not return. The long-sleeved breeze swept away the haze.
Bai Juyi
When I was seeing my guests off, the maple leaves were in full bloom in autumn at night by Xunyang River.
I, the master, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups in the hope of drinking-but, alas, there is no music. ...
We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? .
The piano player is on the water, the piano listener is on the horse, and the piano player and the piano listener meet in the same boat. This boat is a piano, which is plucked by the fingers of water. The so-called confidant is that the hearts of one person and another person are penetrated by the sound of the piano and circulated by running water. Everyone is looking for a bosom friend in the world, but they don't know when an opportunity will happen by chance. Tonight, who plays the piano alone under the waning moon? Loud sounds, such as the first frost in the four fields, the sound of the piano floats farther away than in the distance. The autumn moon on a cold night, the eternal mood, is on the jade finger and the light string. The sentimental feelings of Lushan Mountain were exhausted by the poetry pipa in an ancient night.
Xunyang River rolled and flowed on the pipa, and Bai Sima put down his glass and set the tone on the strings with sadness. At the end of the tune, the fingers playing the pipa gently slide on the strings. As a result, the boat full of autumn grievances disappeared forever with the sound of the piano. Poets, on the other hand, enter the classics gloomily through wet lines. Two long lines of tears, hanging on the face of history, can no longer be erased.
Su Shi
Looking at Lushan Mountain from the front and side of peaks and valleys, from far, near, high and low places, Lushan Mountain presents various faces.
I can't recognize the true face of Lushan Mountain because I am there.
Dongpo lay man does not live on the slope, but lives in his own poems. He is actually proud, but he sincerely admires Tao Qian. Wandering around in my spare time, holding candles to find sages; In the countryside, he lived like Tao Qian, staggered to the deep courtyard, spoke strong Sichuan dialect and hummed Tao Qian's poems. He wrote a poem saying that he must have been in Tao Qian in his previous life. Like Tao Qian, he likes drinking, reciting poems, roaming and chatting with monks. Sneezing when talking contentedly is also a poem. No one can really read his mind. He has insight into the deepest mysteries of the world. Even if the mystery is buried in the mysterious clouds that seem impenetrable in Lushan Mountain.
Lushan Mountain is a place full of poets. Poets climb mountains, drink or enjoy flowers in Lushan Mountain. Then get on the horse and ponder, get off the horse and write poems. When not writing poetry, watching the scenery is also a kind of culture.
I'm going to Lushan Mountain, riding a fast horse of inspiration and going in and out of the forest of poetry. A thousand-year-old poem, a thousand-year-old month, a thousand-year-old fog and rouge are like flames in a flowing spring. Thousands of years of history, thousands of years of romance, thousands of years of lotus blossoms and falls. Lushan Mountain, Lushan Mountain, you have a romantic life as long as you have a history.