I have infiltrated the vast land of China for five thousand years.
the rain washes the sand and stones, and
the cold wind is mixed with whistling.
sunshine is the dress, and moonlight is the dress.
Tang Yao Yu Shun was also angry at my roar.
I am the churning river in the Yangtze River, and
I have shed tears of frustration for five thousand years.
The rain melted into tears,
The cold wind urged me to cry.
sunshine is the dress, and moonlight is the dress.
Britain, the United States, Japan and France have also chiseled into bad deeds.
I am a lush green tree on the top of Mount Tai.
I have been sucking the sweet dew of nature for five thousand years.
Watching the vast river go back,
Listening to the clouds descending.
the universe is my house,
the vault is my home.
poets and poets also poured in.
I am the misty cloud around the waist of Lushan Mountain.
I have been wandering around the winding mountain road for five thousand years.
the marvelous architecture that is proud of the world,
the Oriental Pearl on the Huangpu River.
The vault is my home,
The universe is my house.
the moon, the moon and the wind also stopped in a hurry.
mountains and waters of the motherland!
you are not afraid of wind and frost, you dare to fight,
you are not afraid of power, and you are willing to be lonely.
mountains and waters of the motherland!
I am the gurgling water in your ravine,
I am the goshawk soaring on your peak.
I'm a fish that swims in your stream for years,
I'm a shade that grows by your lake.
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it the swaying green on your mountain ridge, or the bright flowers by the stream?
Is it the song that you came back from the boat in the evening, or is it the waterfall flowing from the mountain stream?
In my motherland, the clouds fall into the stream.
Cattle and sheep reflect the clear waves, and the distant mountains are a little smoky.
Smoke billows and dances. What should I be to you?
Is it a wisp of willow splashing by the lake, or is it a faint smoke rising?
Is it a little water splashed by the fountain, or a little yellow of butterfly wings?
In my motherland, the buildings are higher than the setting sun.
The far tower stirs up the sunset, and the yangko overflows the street.
Laughter is like smoke, rolling the traffic.
Iraqis' eyebrows are flashing. What should I be to you?
Is it a smiling pine in Huangshan Mountain, or is it a cloud with a crescent moon?
Is it a fog entangled by transpiration in Lushan Mountain?
Motherland, the bell on the maple bridge is still ringing
The wine leaving Yangguan in the west is not cold
The forest beside the Great Wall is all red, and the crescent moon is like a hook
The bellman in Chang 'an City has not slept yet < Or Wen Tianxiang sighed deeply
Is it the fierce wind of Sun Yat-sen waving the flag, or the light from Lu Xun's brow
My motherland, the water of Qinhuai River is still flowing
There are so many cries
The battery of Humen reflects the moon, and the smoke shows vaguely
The pines in the mountains are shining, and the heroism is still
Zhou Enlai's smile is still there. The voice in front of Tiananmen Square is still
a monument that has experienced storms stands as a road sign
to let people come and go to Yang
the motherland in March. What should I be
a smile on your face, or a slight sadness
an elegant dress on your Eucharist, or a hidden injury
Dear motherland, how can I love you
Yes. Keep pretending to be
or write a poem with my conscience
say a word with my sincerity
shout out your pain with my only breath
root my bones in the soil
grow green with vows every year
motherland, how can I love you
I will always belong to you, dear motherland
.