Year: Tang Author: Li He
Yiyi should weave a river and rain, and a typhoon in the rain in June.
Boluo came out of the cave when he was old, and the chitose stone bed was called ghost work.
Snake venom is thick and wet, and river fish don't eat sand.
If you want to cut a foot in Hunan, Wu E can't say that Wu Dao is astringent.
fire
Year: Tang Author: Du Mu
Only the shadow follows the wild goose, and the cage is locked alone.
The sleeves are thin, who can see the stage style?
Moshan Xi Cao Xun Wen Feng
Year: Song Author: Cao Group
The grass is warm and the pavilion is foggy. The wall is short of flowers, reflecting the youth and lush of Yang Zhu's family. Looking for fragrance and picking up green, strangers are from youth, Jiangnan is far away, and who will miss the journey when going for an outing? Yesterday, I traveled like a dream, and I remembered Hengtang Road. Typhoon Luo Sleeve is still like a peach blossom and an ancient tree. When I hate, my heart is full of longing. Mountains are connected with water, and water is connected with clouds. I look forward to people.
Huanxisha
Year: Song Author: Yan Shu
The typhoon waves are far away and the autumn is obvious. Concentrate on the whole thing. If you want to leave, stay late. The moon is a lonely pillow dream, and the wine column is empty. The mood at this time is regretful.
The tone of water, don't ask.
Year: Song Author: Han Yuanji
Don't ask the world, I am old but I should be immortal. Nanxier's songs have a unique and graceful appearance. The moon is white, the wind is clear and summer is long. Get drunk and meet the forest. I forgot what I wanted to say. No guest asks about life and death, and there is a bamboo report for peace. Youth, fame, looking for Ran Yan. Now haggard, Xiao Xiaohua is also travel-stained. Back to Penglai, Wan Li. A drunken Yao Typhoon dew. Because of wine, I am full of heaven. Laughter refers to clouds and dreams. What year is tonight?
2. Poems praising the typhoon. Only the passage describing the typhoon was found. For your reference: I was frightened by the tyranny of the typhoon, which always brought the same abominable accomplice flood and extended its bloody claws to unarmed human beings. The wind whirled around the houses with a twisted expression, resolutely breaking their fragile skeletons and letting the rubble on the ground crawl under its arrogant feet. The flood cried and the huge waves tore their already barren family business to pieces, and a group of people were displaced, as if the rootless duckweed on the river was more like it. Another group of people lost their kites in the sky, as if they had just arrived in a strange island, more like a baby who was born with nothing to feed. In the storm, Du Gongbu's poem, which has inspired for thousands of years, echoed in my ears again.
3. What ancient poems describe typhoons? Just like yesterday.
-Wang Anshi's "Introduction to the Millennium" The collapse of Kunlun Mountain is like a typhoon sweeping the world. Heavier than wings and clouds.
-Mao Zedong's "What Heart Lang Bieyou" is full of stage style, remembering that peach blossoms are still old trees. -Cao Zu's "Moshan Xi" is a paradise in the West Garden, and the typhoon pavilion on the moon enjoys the fragrance of the group.
-Cao Guan's "Watching the Tide" Luo Chun has a thin sleeve. Who sees the stage style? -Du Mu's original poem "Farewell" is as follows: It's not cold in the pavilion, a corner is painted in the lonely city, and autumn sounds enter the vast space. Oriental geese walk from the sea, while southern geese fall into the sand.
Typhoon Zhu, just like yesterday. Helpless bound by some fame and fortune, helpless bound by their own feelings, but unfortunately romance is always idle.
At first, I left China to express my views, but now I misunderstood Qin Lou. The dream has stopped. When you wake up, think again.
It means: the sound of cold anvil comes from the guest house, the sound of horn on the lonely city is sad, and the sound of autumn is heard. Haiyan in the east flies to the sea, and Hongyan from the south stops at Shatou.
The wind of Chu and Taiwan, the moon of Lou Yu, is pleasing to the eye, but it is already the scene of yesterday. Life is helpless and bound by fame and fortune; Helpless, by all kinds of boring trifles.
It's a pity that this romantic beauty is always idle, but I consume myself in vanity fair. At the beginning, I knew as well as Ding that a person flew to Huabiao, leaving that poem behind, and now I have delayed my appointment.
At the end of the dream, after waking up, I was thinking carefully alone. The original poem is as follows: wave from here.
What's more, after a brief encounter, grievances are repeated. I hate my eyes and eyebrows, and I still live in tears.
Know the misunderstanding before the book. The fleeting clouds and fog count you and me as human bosom friends.
People are sick, who knows? At present, the frost on Dongmen Road is heavy, and the monthly loss of Hengtang is long, so sad. The whistle broke my gut and I have been traveling alone ever since.
Cut the thread of sadness and hate it. Just like the collapse of Kunlun Mountain, just like a typhoon sweeping the world.
Heavier than wings and clouds. 1923 in April, Hunan Governor Zhao Hengti ordered the arrest of "extremist" Mao Zedong.
Mao left Changsha for Wuhan and turned to Shanghai. In June, he went to Guangzhou to attend the Third National Congress. It was not until the autumn of 2004 that he returned to Hunan to engage in agricultural transportation. I wrote this word when I left my wife Yang Kaihui.
The original poem is as follows: the grass is warm and the pavilion is foggy. The wall is short of flowers, reflecting the youth and lush of Yang Zhu's family.
Looking for fragrance and picking up green, strangers are from youth, Jiangnan is far away, and who will miss the journey when going for an outing? Yesterday, I traveled like a dream, and I remembered Hengtang Road.
Typhoon Luo Sleeve is still like a peach blossom and an ancient tree. When I hate, my heart is full of longing. Mountains are connected with water, and water is connected with clouds. I look forward to people.
Moral: This Yongmei Ci mainly shows the natural "true state" of plum blossom, its elegant fragrance and its noble and aloof character. Liaoyuan Huang, a scholar in A Qing, said: "The kind words in the poem are not oblique sentences, but in the jumping place before and after, where the scene blends and the words point to something.
Some time ago, it was said that Plum doesn't have a royal collar in China, if beautiful women are also content with lonely courtyards. People haven't seen it yet, and it's stormy, but who knows its fragrance? The second time, not only indifferent, but also difficult to have results, want to yellow.
Guy's life, but for people with feelings, I am worried when I see it. Today, I am as thin as Rudong. What do you know about flowers? The language is superb, and it is vulgar writing.
The original poem is as follows: Huiji Fanzhen, Mancheng Boats and Cars, Huainingxiang. The old jade cave, Lanting wins, and thousands of rocks and valleys give birth to light.
Ode to Beauty, Gong Huang. Celebrate your kindness, play with colors, and your eyebrows will be healthy.
Recreation in the West Park, and the typhoon pavilion will enjoy group incense in the middle of the month. It means: Cao Guanzi, minister, from Shuangxi, Dongyang (now Zhejiang).
Shaoxing was a scholar in twenty-four years. In twenty-five years, he was Professor Fu Xue of Pingjiang Prefecture, and removed Dr. Zuo Xuanyilang and Dr. Taichang from Guo Zi Lu, and sought the right of official inspection in each room under the book door.
To die is to write an obituary, calling "Glory to the Lord, promote prosperity, restore peace after turmoil, and restore peace in peace." Virtue is born, and merit is crowned in ancient and modern times. "A few days later, Zhang Xiu put forward other theories.
Next year, I will be Qin Feng's fake hand to refute my family name. When he was filial, Xu tried again and took the avenue again for five years (1 169) and was admitted to the Jinshi.
When I first entered Chenzhou, I learned about it, turned to the DPRK, and was given an official position by the doctor. He died at the age of 80. Twenty volumes of Shuangxi Collection, ten volumes of landscape poems and one volume of Yan Xi Ci.
The original poem is as follows: only the shadows follow the geese, and the paintings are locked in solitary cages. With thin sleeves, who reads the typhoon?
The water in Nanling is clear, the river is flowing, the wind is blowing tight, the clouds are light, and autumn is coming. When the guests are lonely, whose woman is watching the railing upstairs by the river? .
4. What are the ancient poems about "Typhoon"
Crazy and desperate, turning over the clouds to cover the urban area.
The dragon is called * * * aid, and the rain takes advantage of the wrath of heaven to vent its affair.
At present, the magical powers are vast, and there is no self-control between the swirling flowers.
The universe is not force majeure, no matter where it is lost.
◎ Operator. Sing a typhoon
Fujian night Mid-Autumn Festival, super hurricane Moranti.
Storm three feet, summer and land.
When fortunes turn, life and death are as thin as paper.
Is there dignity before disaster? Why fight for fame and fortune!
Angel original jade "Yi Yan Chun"
-Invite the Moon Angel
Spring willow eyes are full of true feelings, and love songs are light and charming. The peach falls to see the flowers in the wine, and the wild branches fall to separate the new forest.
Concentric qingyunyan, thirty people. Good to bodhi will be planted, and the dream butterfly will be destroyed with the dust.
5. What is in the poem praising "Typhoon"? There are seven laws of typhoon, tidal cyclones in the sky and raging storms in the sky. Great effect, low momentum, low momentum, unfavorable equatorial poles and unequal strong winds. On the ocean surface, the temperature difference between land and ocean is cold and hot. Typhoon essay: I was shocked by the overbearing typhoon. It always takes the flood as an equally hateful accomplice and extends its bloody paws to unarmed humans. The wind pounced on the houses with a grimace of a grin, resolutely broke their already fragile skeletons and let the rubble on the ground crawl under its proud feet. The flood shouted that the huge waves tore their already barren property to pieces, and a group of people were displaced, like a river. The rootless duckweed in the world is more like a kite with a broken line in the sky. A group of people have nothing, like they have just arrived in a strange island, and more like a baby who has nothing to feed at birth. In the raging wind and rain, Du Gongbu's poem, which has been ringing for thousands of years, echoes in my ears again.