In the corner of his garden, there is a place he once reserved.
He was alone and let nature spread.
An untrimmed edge
Or a neat and suitable hedge.
He quietly left his earth alone.
Allow the forces of nature to roam
He said that you don't always have to keep clean and tidy.
Watch the beauty of opportunity grow under your feet.
He said that just watching the earth produce its own glory.
I watched. Stick to his story.
My grandfather was right.
Water and light
Look at this scene.
There are poppies and flowering weeds.
Ranunculus buttercup and oat reed
Daisy raised her head carefully.
Dandelion growled on the muddy bed.
Purple thistles and strange grass
Ignite the color of the public
Dark ferns and heathers
Dandelion clock feather
Four-leaf clover
My grandfather's story is not over yet.
He may have left, and I may have cried.
But the beauty he predicted never died.
2. The sentence describing European courtyards is beautiful, 1. It was a sunny autumn morning, and the morning sun shone quietly on the brown trees and the still green fields. I went to the lawn and looked up at the front of the building. This is a three-story building. Although there is a considerable scale, the proportion is not grand. This is a gentleman's residence, not a noble mansion. The battlements around the top make the whole building look unique. The gray front is just set off by the nest of a white-billed crow behind it, which is very prominent. Its residents croak in the side room, fly over lawns and gardens, and land on a large meadow. The fence separates the lawn from the garden. Rows of huge old thorns grow on the grass, strong and knotty, as big as oak trees, which explains the etymological meaning of the house name at once. Further away is the mountain. It is not as high as the mountains around lowood, nor is it an isolated barrier like them. But these mountains are very quiet, embracing Thornfield, bringing it a kind of silence that I didn't expect in the noisy Milcourt area. A small village is scattered on one side of a hill, and the roof is integrated with the trees. The regional church is located near Thornfield, and its ancient bell tower overlooks the mound between the house and the gate.
2. I leaned against the battlements and looked down. I saw the ground spread out like a map, and the fresh velvet lawn tightly surrounded the gray foundation of the building; On the park-sized site, ancient trees are dotted around; The dark brown withered forest is clearly separated by a path, which is covered with moss and looks greener than a leafy tree; Churches, roads and quiet hills at the door lie in the autumn sun; Quiet sky on the horizon, blue mixed with marble-like pearl white. The scenery is not surprising, but everything is pleasing to the eye. When I turned around and passed the skylight again, I could hardly see the way down the escalator. Compared with the blue sky I just looked up at, and the scenery of Woods, pastures and green hills in the sun with Thornfield House as the core, this attic is as dark as a grave.
The ground is hard, the air is quiet and the road ditch is lonely. I walked very fast and didn't slow down until I was feverish, enjoying and savoring all the joys of this scene. It was three o'clock, and when I passed the bell tower, the church clock had just struck. The charm of this moment is that the sky is getting dark, the setting sun is low and the sun is bleak. I walked on a path a mile from Thornfield. In summer, wild roses bloom here; In autumn, nuts and black strawberries abound. Even now, there are precious rose fruits and hawthorn fruits in coral color. But the greatest pleasure in winter lies in the extreme silence and the silence revealed by bare trees. The breeze is blowing, and there is no sound here, because no holly or evergreen tree can make a swaying sound. The leafless hawthorn and hazel bushes are as silent as the worn white stone in the middle of the path. On both sides of the road. There are only fields far and near, but no cows eat grass. The yellow-brown birds that occasionally fiddle with the hedge look like scattered dead leaves and forget to fall.
The sunny midsummer shines in England. At that time, it was sunny for several days, even a day and a half, and it was rare to visit our island country surrounded by waves. It seems that the continuous Italian weather drifted from the south, like a group of brilliant migratory birds, landing on the cliffs of England. Hay has been collected, and the fields around Thornfield have been harvested, showing a new green. The roads are as white as baking, and the trees are lush and lush. The thick leaves in hedges and Woods are in sharp contrast with the golden yellow of the grassland harvested between them.
5. Into the orchard. There is nothing more secret in the garden, more like a corner of the Garden of Eden. Trees are lush here, flowers are in full bloom, and there is a high wall separated from the yard on one side; On the other side, a beech-covered road acts as a barrier to separate it from the lawn. Below is a short hedge, which is the only boundary between it and that lonely field. A winding path leads to the fence. There is a laurel tree by the roadside. At the end of the road is a huge horse chestnut with a row of seats under it. You can wander here without being found. At the moment when the dew falls, the night is getting darker and darker, and I feel as if I will wander in this shadow forever.
3. Poems about foreign countries: Hello: 1. Clouds and wet clothes are close to you, and the sound of spring water makes you sleepy, and you feel the stream approaching. The lonely moon rides the sky, and the hungry apes crow the mountains. Appreciation: It was written by Xie E Huang (786-842) (reigned 809-823). He is obsessed with Chinese studies and poetry. Very rare. 2. Toyotomi Hideyoshi's self-singing is like sunrise, which comes and goes in a hurry. Osaka is magnificent and dreamy. (Toyotomi Hideyoshi was written by Ji Xiuji. This poem was sung before he died. The sound of the loom stopped abruptly for three nights, and the bright moon in front of the window was like autumn water. My mother wanted to ask, but she lowered her eyebrows. The soul is homesick for thousands of miles. Attached to the original poem: Mom, how can I bear to knit? My heart is full of love for that person. Tagore's English poems have dug an insurmountable gap between you and the person who loves you with a cold heart. The furthest distance in the world is not the distance between trees, but the branches that grow on the same root but cannot depend on each other in the wind. The furthest distance in the world is not that the branches can't depend on each other, but the stars that look at each other but don't meet each other. The trajectory between the stars is that even if the trajectory meets, there is nowhere to look for it in an instant. The furthest distance in the world is not that you can't find it for a moment, but that you are doomed to meet it before you meet it. The furthest distance in the world is the distance between a fish and a bird, one in the sky and the other in the sea. It's not the distance between life and death, but when I stand in front of you, you don't know that I love you. The furthest distance in the world is not that I stand in front of you and you don't know that I love you, but that I love you so much that I can't say that I love you. The furthest distance in the world is not that we love each other but we can't be together. The furthest distance in the world is not when we love each other but pretend not to care at all, even when we know that love is invincible; The furthest distance in the world is not the distance between two trees, but even if the branches of two trees grow together, The furthest distance in the world is not that you love each other but can't meet each other, but that two stars watch each other but can't meet each other. The farthest distance in the world is not that there is nowhere to find after the two tracks meet, but that you are doomed not to be together without meeting. The farthest distance in the world is the distance between fish and birds. When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy, take a nap by the fire. Please take down this book and read it slowly and dream of you. How many people love your joyful and elegant moments, love your beauty with hypocrisy or sincerity, but only one person loves your pilgrim soul and the sadness on your aging face. Bend down by the burning fireplace, whisper with sadness, how love dies, pace on the mountains overhead, and hide your face among the stars. When you are old and sleepy and dozing off by the fire, please write a poem. I remember you once had a pair of gentle eyes with a few shadows in the corner of your eyes. How many people loved you when you were young and beautiful? True or false love your beauty, but only one person loves the holiness of your soul and the painful wrinkles on your aging face. Looking back at the red stove, I tell you sadly how love slipped away, ran to the mountain above, and then hid her face in the stars. At the foot of Bumble Mountain, Ye Zhi 6 lies at the bare foot of Bumble Mountain, and Ye Zhi lies in the middle of Lifu Cemetery in Lamke. An ancestor used to be the principal there. Many years ago, there was a church nearby, on the roadside, an ancient cross, no marble plaque, no rhetoric. On the limestone collected nearby, according to his instructions, these words are engraved: throw away the cold eyes of life and death, knight, go forward bravely! (The last sentence is very famous. ) Tagore's I only have a few words that I'm not sure are poems. Hehe, you are alone in the boundless loneliness of your soul. A quiet and lonely girl is a lonely lotus, blooming in the branches of love. I once loved you, Pushkin. I once loved you: love may not be completely dead in my heart; I hope I won't bother you again, and I don't want to make you sad again. I used to love you silently and hopelessly, enduring shyness and jealousy; I once loved you so sincerely and tenderly. God bless you, and the other one will love you as much as I do.
The poem about the park is 1. The Spring Garden by Wang Wei, a Tang poem, is a story about staying in the rain and enjoying the cool, and it is chilly in spring.
Open the edge and divide the white water. The grass turned into a chess game, and Duan Lin held up the orange.
Still holding deerskin, mugwort hides at dusk. Xue Neng's topic is: Tao Zhuang Back Garden, Public Garden, Deep and Deep, Jing Chu Sweeping the Shade.
If you want to spend next year, you should be bored. Wu Rongqiu Garden began to pity this beautiful spring grass, but did not feel that the green of Qiu Lai was getting thinner and thinner.
Disappointed people dispersed and butterflies flew high in the garden. 2. Modern Jiangfeng Garden is burning silently.
The buds in the green leaves are like car lights in the dark, advocating patience and making no noise. Birds and beasts in the garden, larvae intoxicated and suffocated.
The roar of nature, when can't the wings of the plane be heard? Unconsciously, rain came-wet mud knocked on the courtyard wall. Branches break leaves, walls collapse.
Plants rush to the season, just like the human body. At dusk, bats flew around the wall of the ancient horse garden. I obeyed the will of an ancient tree in the garden and carried the body of the girl who was executed because of pregnancy out of the gate through a hole cut in the wall of the garden. The fragrance of lilacs floated out of the hole, as if marrying death in spring. 3. An ancient foreign garden-Ximenes, I stood in front of the iron fence of the ancient garden and poked my head around; Everything around seems to be immersed in a dream of missing my hometown.
Above the dense trees, under the clear blue sky in the afternoon, it shakes and shines like a gem. It's gloomy in the distance, and the sound of sighing slowly comes from there. The sound of water is like a kiss.
My eyes were lost in the dreamlike withered flowers without petals, with a gray-green leaf hovering in the cool trembling air and falling to the ground. ..... The branches and leaves kept shaking, and I don't know what mysterious force was making trouble. "From the shady jungle, it seems that there is a fragrance floating, and a magical rose sticks out. Her extremely feminine figure has been exposed behind a thin veil for a long time.
Her eyes were fixed on mine. Then she disappeared into the fog and retreated sadly along the path ... from the deep and dense Woods, there came a monotonous and weak voice, which was the answer of water, a tick, a kiss. Not far away, in the bright afternoon sky above Magnolia, a shining teardrop was flying brightly.
..... The garden is once again hidden in a sad dream, and a tall and charming nightingale wails in the silent distance. Autumn in Van Dusen Garden-Brock's fingers touched the Woods with red meaning. Summer leaves with a sigh, and the rolling water reflects the falling tears. The fragrance of roses disappeared behind the cloud curtain, like a dying song. My inner ear lingers in the sadness of autumn in the distant farewell sound. -Silent Garden in senghor.
Labor and noise, all the disturbing noises of the city slip through the smooth roof, linger in the ear, reach the sad window and disappear in the tiny, delicate and considerate leaves. White hands, elegant posture, peaceful behavior.
But the drums of Damm-Damm (1) span mountains and continents. Who can calm my heart and jump, jump and sting under the call of the dam? (Translated from unpublished poems) Zhang Fang translated (1) African Damm-Damm drums, which are traditionally used to convey information.
5. The sentence describing European courtyards is beautiful, 1. It was a sunny autumn morning, and the morning sun shone quietly on the brown trees and the still green fields.
I went to the lawn and looked up at the front of the building. This is a three-story building. Although there is a considerable scale, the proportion is not grand. This is a gentleman's residence, not a noble mansion.
The battlements around the top make the whole building look unique. The gray front is just set off by the nest of a white-billed crow behind it, which is very prominent. Its residents croak in the side room, fly over lawns and gardens, and land on a large meadow.
The fence separates the lawn from the garden. Rows of huge old thorns grow on the grass, strong and knotty, as big as oak trees, which explains the etymological meaning of the house name at once.
Further away is the mountain. It is not as high as the mountains around lowood, nor is it an isolated barrier like them.
But these mountains are very quiet, embracing Thornfield, bringing it a kind of silence that I didn't expect in the noisy Milcourt area. A small village is scattered on one side of a hill, and the roof is integrated with the trees.
The regional church is located near Thornfield, and its ancient bell tower overlooks the mound between the house and the gate. 2. I leaned against the battlements and looked down. I saw the ground spread out like a map, and the fresh velvet lawn tightly surrounded the gray foundation of the building; On the park-sized site, ancient trees are dotted around; The dark brown withered forest is clearly separated by a path, which is covered with moss and looks greener than a leafy tree; Churches, roads and quiet hills at the door lie in the autumn sun; Quiet sky on the horizon, blue mixed with marble-like pearl white.
The scenery is not surprising, but everything is pleasing to the eye. When I turned around and passed the skylight again, I could hardly see the way down the escalator.
Compared with the blue sky I just looked up at, and the scenery of Woods, pastures and green hills in the sun with Thornfield House as the core, this attic is as dark as a grave. The ground is hard, the air is quiet and the road ditch is lonely.
I walked very fast and didn't slow down until I was feverish, enjoying and savoring all the joys of this scene. It was three o'clock, and when I passed the bell tower, the church clock had just struck.
The charm of this moment is that the sky is getting dark, the setting sun is low and the sun is bleak. I walked on a path a mile from Thornfield.
In summer, wild roses bloom here; In autumn, nuts and black strawberries abound. Even now, there are precious rose fruits and hawthorn fruits in coral color. But the greatest pleasure in winter lies in the extreme silence and the silence revealed by bare trees.
The breeze is blowing, and there is no sound here, because no holly or evergreen tree can make a swaying sound. The leafless hawthorn and hazel bushes are as silent as the worn white stone in the middle of the path.
On both sides of the road. There are only fields far and near, but no cows eat grass.
The yellow-brown birds that occasionally fiddle with the hedge look like scattered dead leaves and forget to fall. The sunny midsummer shines in England.
At that time, it was sunny for several days, even a day and a half, and it was rare to visit our island country surrounded by waves. It seems that the continuous Italian weather drifted from the south, like a group of brilliant migratory birds, landing on the cliffs of England.
Hay has been collected, and the fields around Thornfield have been harvested, showing a new green. The roads are as white as baking, and the trees are lush and lush.
The leaves of hedges and Woods are dense, which is in sharp contrast with the golden yellow of the grassland harvested between them. 5. Enter the orchard. There is nothing more secret in the garden, more like a corner of the Garden of Eden.
Trees are lush here, flowers are in full bloom, and there is a high wall separated from the yard on one side; On the other side, a beech-covered road acts as a barrier to separate it from the lawn. Below is a short hedge, which is the only boundary between it and that lonely field.
A winding path leads to the fence. There is a laurel tree by the roadside. At the end of the road is a huge horse chestnut with a row of seats under it.
You can wander here without being found. At the moment when the dew falls, the night is getting darker and darker, and I feel as if I will wander in this shadow forever.
6. About the topic of foreign pastoral poetry: Persian lyric poetry (choose one) Author: Ye Saining Sharjanet, Sharjanet, my girl! Perhaps because I come from the north, I want to talk about the vastness of the fields and the undulating wheat waves in the moonlight.
Sagarna, Sagarna, my girl! Maybe it's because I come from the north, where even the moon is a hundred times brighter. No matter how beautiful Shiraz is, it is not as good as Liang's praise.
Maybe it's because I'm from the north. I want to talk about the vastness of that field.
The black wheat field feeds me with long curly hair. You can wrap it around your finger at will-I'll never feel any pain.
I want to talk about the vastness of that field. Talk about the undulating wheat waves in the moonlight.
Look at my curly hair-just like it. Laugh, smile, beloved girl.
But you must not remind me of the undulating wheat waves in the moonlight. Sagarna, Sagarna, my girl! There is a young girl in the far north.
That person is so much like you, she may be thinking about me intently ... Janet, Janet, my girl! Topic: Persian lyrics (Option 3) Author: Ye Saining "Why is the moonlight so dim on the gardens and walls in horasan?" It's like walking in a Russian field with a rustling fog on your head. " In this way, dear Lala, I asked the silent cypress trees at night, but all the cypresses didn't say a word and held their heads up proudly to the sky. "Why is the moonlight full of sadness?" I asked Hua a question in the forest, and Hua replied, "You can know the details of this matter from Rose's sadness."
Rose petals fell to the ground. Rose whispered to me with petals: "Your Sagarna gave her tenderness to others, and Sagarna kissed another couple."
She said, "This Russia can't see ... the heart needs songs, but songs need life and body ..." That's why the moon shines dim, and that's why the moonlight is so pale and powerless. I don't know how many things have changed my mind Some people look forward to tears and pain, while others despise them.
..... but the lavender night on earth is still beautiful forever. Topic: Country Author: Pushkin I salute you, you remote and desolate corner, where peace, labor and inspiration live, where I am immersed in the embrace of happiness, and I flow away quietly like water.
I belong to you: I abandoned the maze of coquettish women, I abandoned the luxurious banquet and vanity pleasure, fell in love with the quiet whisper in the forest and the tranquility in the wild, and fell in love with the pleasure of freedom and the contemplative partner. I belong to you-I love this quiet garden, the blooming flowers and the cool breeze. I love this meadow dotted with fragrant hay and the clear streams flowing in the bushes.
In front of my eyes, there are vivid color pictures everywhere: in the color pictures, I see two mirror-blue lakes, a fishing sail shining with lake light, rolling hills and winding farmland on the other side of the lake, scattered houses and farmhouses in the distance, flocks of cattle and sheep foraging on the wet shore, smoking in the drying room and spinning in the mill windmill; Everywhere presents the scene of abundance and labor ... I belong here, get rid of the fetters of worldly glitz, and I am learning how to find down-to-earth happiness. I obey the laws of nature with a free heart. I no longer listen to the endless complaints of ignorant people. I learn to sympathize with the forbearing prayers, instead of enviing those villains and fools and letting them enjoy the reputation of injustice. Prophets of all ages, please point out the maze! In this solemn seclusion, I heard your sweet voice more truly.
It dispels lazy sad dreams, it ignites my desire to work, and your meditation that can stimulate creation is developing in my heart. However, an ominous thought is full of sadness: in this thriving field and mountains, a human friend is watching sadly, and there are painful and ignorant scenes everywhere.
Ignoring tears and groans, ignoring these doomed people's disasters, these ruthless and savage lords only know how to wave their violent whips and vines and seize farmers' labor, property and time. Weak slaves bent other people's plowshares, dragged ridges and ditches with difficulty, and succumbed to the whip of their ruthless masters.
Everyone here has been dragging a heavy shackle all his life, and he dare not give birth to a glimmer of hope and desire in his heart. Here, young girls are as beautiful as flowers and pure as jade, but they can only be destroyed by cruel villains at will. In the eyes of the elderly fathers, the rest of the next generation are men who depend on life and work, but they have multiplied in their ancestors' huts for generations, but they are just suffering slaves who have been driven away from generation to generation.
Oh, I hope my voice can shake people's hearts! Why do I only burn futile enthusiasm in my chest, but fate doesn't give me passionate talent? Ah, friends! Am I lucky enough to see the Tsar allow people to be liberated from the shackles of slavery, and one day the brilliant dawn of enlightenment and freedom will finally be above the height of our motherland, generate? .
7. Describe the ancient poems or famous sayings of the park: In ancient times, it refers to the official park. In modern times, it generally refers to the public area built and operated by the government as a natural viewing area for the public to rest and play.
Ancient poems are not available because of the different meanings of ancient and modern words. Poems about parks are too vague. I found a foreign poem for your reference:
in the park
Author: Preville
A thousand years, ten thousand years.
hard to say
The eternity of this moment
You kissed me.
I kissed you.
In winter, in the hazy morning.
Early in the morning in Monsuri Park.
The park is in Paris.
Paris is a city on the ground.
The earth is a star in the sky.
Attachment: French original poem:
Leyardan
Jacques Prevert
Millionaires and Millionaires Yearbook
Not enough food.
Pour wine
The second small hotel
Hello, I love you.
I love hugs.
Dawn in a morning light
Mouzo Reese Park.
Paris
on land
The earth is a planet.
English translation:
garden
Jacques Prevert
Thousands of years.
not enough
tell about
That brief eternity
When you hold me.
When I hold you
One morning
In the winter sunshine
In Monte Sourice Park.
In Paris
to the end
This earth
That's a star.
8. "Poetry in the Garden" Garden is a poem and one of the greatest American poetesss in the 20th century. Her poem won a title in one fell swoop: "a perfect imagist who created a miniature Baoyu." However, her later works and most of her important works cannot be classified as imagism. Her creativity and greatness are reflected in her later poems and essays. Unbreakable Wall (1944), Dedicated to Angels (1945) and Shooting Branches (1946) were published in the name of trilogy in 1973. The definition of confidentiality is published in 1972.