Poetry suitable for junior high school students to recite

To Youth Even in the dark, I can read your outline, and even in the garden, I can feel your heartbeat. I understand that youth is a poem that can't be surrounded by night, a dance that can't be surrounded by flowers, and a passion for volcanic eruption. But you have to remember that the meteor of youth only crosses the horizon of life once. Author: All the endings of Xi Murong have been written, and all the tears have begun but suddenly forgotten. How did the ancient summer that never came back begin? No matter how hard I try to pursue young you, your smiling face is like a cloud drifting away and fading away. After sunset, the haze opened the yellow title page, and fate bound it badly with tears in my eyes. I have read and reread, but I have to admit that Youth is a book that is too hasty and loves life. Author: Wang Guozhen I don't want to think about whether I can succeed. Since I chose the distant place, I only care about the hardships and difficulties. I don't think about whether I can win love. Since you love roses, tell your heart bravely. I don't think about whether there will be cold wind and rain behind me. Since the goal is that the horizon can only leave a shadow for the world, I will not think about whether the future is flat or muddy. I love everything in my life. It is expected that if you are not happy enough, Author: Wang Guozhen, if you are not happy enough, don't frown. Life is short. Why cultivate bitterness? Open dusty doors and windows, and let sunshine and rain fill every corner. Vilen, who is heading for life, lets the wind iron his forehead. Broadness can dilute sadness, and darkness can cover light. Author: Wang Guozhen We can deceive others, but not ourselves. When we go to the prosperous five years, youth is no longer mysterious. Always keep the original romance, always bumpy. It's not easy for some people to be sad and others to be happy. When we cross a high mountain, we cross a true self. The above poems are generally suitable for junior high school students to recite, and the time is also appropriate. You can choose Bandari's piano music to face the sea. Haizi will be a happy person from tomorrow, feeding horses, chopping wood and traveling around the world. I will care about food and vegetables from tomorrow. I have a house. Starting from tomorrow, I will write to every relative and tell them my happiness. What the lightning of happiness told me, I will tell everyone. Stranger, give every river and mountain a warm name. And I wish you a bright future. I wish you a happy life in the world. I just want to face the sea and spring blossoms. In September, Haizi witnessed the wild flowers on the grassland where the gods died. The wind in the distance is farther than that in the distance. My piano sobbed without tears. I returned to the distant grassland. One is called wood and the other is called ponytail. My piano sobbed without tears. I can only concentrate wild flowers in death. A bright moon is like a mirror, hanging high on the grassland, reflecting my sobbing for thousands of years. Haizi, a girl riding a horse across the grassland alone, walked intermittently, and her clean footprints were covered with cool dew. She was a little melancholy, looking at the house built of mud and grass and looking at her father. She parted her black hair with her hand. A wild cherry blossom is silently inserted obliquely, and one is given to whom, but no one has ever asked whether spring is the wind and autumn is the month. When I felt it, she had gone to another place. That's a fence after the rain, like a blue stream. I will never go home again (Spain). On that sunny night, the world was already asleep under the bright moon. My body was gone, and the cool wind blew in through the open window and asked where my soul was. I wonder if anyone will remember me for a long time. Perhaps in the tenderness and tears, someone will kindly recall my past, but there will still be sighs and hopes of flowers and stars. Under the dense trees in the street, my lover's laughter will also ring the piano, just like the usual scene in this silent night, but no one will listen silently in front of the window where I lived. Whenever I am afraid of Keats, whenever I am afraid: life may not wait for my pen to collect my vigorous thoughts, nor for a pile of books, like a barn full of words, to put away cooked millet. Every time I see the huge sign of fog in the legend of starry night, I think that I may not live to describe its fantasy with an accidental magic pen. Every time I feel: Oh, the moment of beauty, I may never see you again, I will never be intoxicated with carefree love and its charm, so I stand alone on the shore of this vast world and meditate until my love and reputation are in nothingness! The Four Seasons of Man (UK) Keats has four seasons in a year, and there are also spring, summer, autumn and winter in people's minds: he has a vigorous spring, allowing naive fantasies to grasp all the beautiful things in the world; In summer, he likes to recall the sweet thoughts of early spring and indulge in them, which makes him close to the kingdom of heaven; His soul has a clear harbor in autumn. At this time, he folded his wings. He was content with being drunk and hazy, letting the beautiful scene flow like a river in front of his door and ignoring it. He also has winter, pale and deformed, otherwise, he is beyond human nature. You are a flower, you are a dear child (Germany) Heine, you are a flower, you are a dear child. From your kiss, I realize that you are not as gentle as a flower's lips, nor as hot as a flower's tears. My eyes are closed, but my soul keeps looking at your face. You stare at me, so sweet, so ecstatic. We have nothing to say. But I feel in my heart that everything you say is shameful. Silence is the pure flower of love. Ask ruby what brilliance it radiates, ask cordate telosma and rose what fragrance it emits. But don't ask, in Yin Hui in February, what love (prayer) is whispered between the two-hearted flower and her dead lover? I know the world is not absolutely beautiful. I also know that it has separation and aging. However, I only have one chance for God. Please listen to my prayers, give me a long summer, give me a pure memory, give me a gentle heart and a white love. I can only come to this world once, so please give me another beautiful name. I will always remember what I once loved in the years of Mercedes-Benz (lermontov). Clouds in the sky, vagabonds forever! You exiled prisoners, like me, ran across the green grasslands, rolling mountains and lovely northern countries to the south. Who is persecuting you, fate? Secret jealousy? Or openly slander? What bothers you is your own crime, or the malicious slander of your friends? No, the desolate fields make you tired ... you don't know what pain and frustration are. You are always indifferent and free. You have no motherland, and you will not be exiled! Sail (Russian) lermontov On the pale blue sea of clouds, there is a lone sail shining with white light. What is it looking for in a distant place? What did it leave in its lovely hometown? The waves are rough, the sea peaks roar, the masts arch and creak ... alas, it is not the pursuit of happiness, nor the escape from happiness! Below is a blue wave that is clearer than the blue sky, and above it is golden sunshine, and it, uneasy, seems to be peaceful in praying for the storm! Running water for thousands of years Swallows' thoughts written on the water for thousands of years are only occasional ripples. The depth and shallowness of lovesickness, once thin and dead, is just a moment worth looking forward to. Peach blossom on the face, ancient costume running script. You can extend the happiness and loneliness of waiting into a scenery that you can't send away at an unattainable distance, so you can only be invited to forget your name in the water and hope that you will talk about yesterday forever every night, just like telling other people's stories. Millennium white hair rustles and falls in the dust. Only running water knows how beautiful it used to be. When you are old (Irish) Ye Zhi, when you are old, your head is white, you are sleepy, and you are dozing by the fire, please take this poem down and read it slowly, recalling the softness of your eyes and their heavy shadows in the past; How many people love the beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity of adore you when you are young and happy? Only one person loves your pilgrim soul and the painful wrinkles on your aging face. He hung his head and whispered sadly about the love that was taken away by the red fire. On the mountain overhead, he paced slowly and hid his face among a group of stars. A little flower (Russia) Pushkin I saw a forgotten little flower in a book, which had already dried up and lost its fragrance; At this moment, my mind is full of a strange fantasy: where is it? What time? What spring is it? Did you drive for a long time? Who took it off? Is it a stranger's hand or a familiar hand? Why put it here again? Is it to commemorate that warm meeting, or the feeling of destiny takes a hand's parting, or to commemorate walking alone in the secluded place of the field and in the shadow of the forest? He's alive. Is she alive? Where is the corner where they live now? Or are they all withered, like this unknown little flower? Under the blue sky of the motherland (Russia), Pushkin has withered and withered ... and finally withered. There may be a young ghost flying around my head, but we have insurmountable boundaries. I aroused my emotions in vain: the news of her death came from my indifferent mouth and I listened coldly. This is the person I loved with a fiery heart. I love so warmly, so deeply, so gently, so depressed, so crazy, so painful! Where does it hurt? Where is love? In my heart, for the poor credulous soul, for the sweet memories of those lost years, I have neither shed tears nor been blamed. Beautiful campus text/We are in our youth, growing like flowers in such a beautiful campus. The beauty of youth blooms in such a beautiful campus. The road from the dormitory to the classroom is covered with flowers. The sunshine is full of green grass buds. Glittering water drops are dripping. The green jumping avenue caught the passing lights. In such a beautiful campus, trees and flowers breathe youth. The air is full of tinkling piano sounds, and the children's red faces are full of ideals, self-confidence, courage and joy. In such a beautiful campus, a pine tree is bent sweetly. It has thoughts, flesh and blood, and a soul. It symbolizes the eternal direction and mission of youth. It starts from the heel and leans towards the national flag, but its upper body is as straight as a flagpole. It greeted the rising sun side by side with the red flag and watched the sunset go away. It touched and kissed the red blood, and the blood boiled like fire. The rising sun in Ran Ran in the East burns the sincere hearts of the students. Don't miss the beautiful scenery before you. Don't wait until one day you are so sad: when you leave, you will begin to regret not being a child. Looking closely at you, your grass and trees, your flowers and birds, the book fragrance bathed in the courtyard, I only vaguely look for the hazy youth footprint in my heart, until the moment I leave you, your skin color, your flesh and your eternal vitality, I will regret not being really close to you. I really want to come back to your arms and kiss your green and red skin. I really hope I'm right. Every tree and every flower says thank you and leaves a smile. I regret leaving you. I don't care about you wholeheartedly. I didn't talk to flowers and plants. I didn't appreciate their beauty quietly. Now I find you so beautiful. I find that your youth has been quietly decorated by you. The original happiness and beauty have quietly passed away, and I find myself alive. In my own shadow and you-a beautiful campus-it will always be sunny. Why is everything always in hindsight? In such a beautiful campus, there are beautiful girls, young teachers, some people recite poems, some people sing and we dance happily. How can this campus make me not love her regretless youth? If you love someone when you are young, please be gentle. Treat her no matter how long or short you love each other, if you can always treat each other gently, then all the moments will be flawless beauty. If you have to part, say goodbye and thank her in your heart for giving you a memory. When you grow up, you will know that youth without resentment, when you look back suddenly, will have no regrets, just like the quiet dusk on the mountain on a young night. After listening to a song, the wind blew through the lily, but when I yearned for it, I felt silent and disappeared. There is nowhere to leave moonlight to soak people's skin. One evening after twenty years, what is similar to that night, which makes the melody light? The drums on the mountain should force my heart to look back at the path. The ups and downs of this half-life turned into sweet tears in the dusk.