Towering mountains, towering trees, cuckoo singing in the depths of Qian Shan. The spring rain in the mountains has not stopped all night, and the trees on the treetops are spring.
China women throw a piece of cloth, or farmers argue over taro fields. I hope you will carry forward Wen Weng's achievements, make persistent efforts and forge ahead.
2. Tang Li Bai's "Looking at Xuancheng Rhododendron":
Shu once heard of Zigui birds and Xuancheng saw azaleas. One is called, one is ileum, one is broken, and March is three memories.
3, tang li bai "Shu Dao Nan":
The Green Mud Mountain is made up of many circles. For every hundred steps, we have to turn nine times in the middle of its mound. Panting, we passed Orion, passed Jingxing, and then fell to the ground with our arms folded and groaned. We don't know whether this road to the west will never end. The road ahead is getting darker and darker. Nothing can be heard except the cries of birds surrounded by ancient forests. The male bird rotates smoothly and follows the female bird. Jathyapple, what comes to us is the melancholy voice of Du Fu, a sad empty mountain. This kind of trip is more difficult than climbing the blue sky, and even hearing it will make people pale!
4. Tang Bai Juyi's Pipa Trip:
A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile. Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year. My residence is near the riverside town, which is low and humid.
The house is surrounded by bitter reeds and yellow rushes. What can you hear here in the morning and evening? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing. I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining.
5. Don Lee and "The Old Lady Picks Jade Songs":
Pick jade, pick jade, and make a lewd step. I'm worried about the hungry dragon. Blue Creek is not innocent.
The rain eats seeds at night, and the cuckoo is full of blood and tears. The water of the blue stream hates strangers, and the stream is hated for thousands of years.
The wind and rain are whistling on the sloping mountain cypress, and the rope is hanging at the foot of the spring. The village is cold and white, missing the baby, and hanging grass on the ancient stone platform.