Poems praising snow (1)
The north wind rolled up the white grass and scattered them, and the snow in August crossed the Tatar sky.
Just like the strong wind in spring, it blows at night and blows open the petals of ten thousand pear trees.
It enters the pearl shutters, it wets the silk curtains, a fur coat feels cold, and a cotton pad is thin.
The bow became stiff and almost impossible to pull out, and all the protective iron clothes were still cold.
The unfathomable ice in the sand sea, gloomy clouds and Wan Li condensation.
But let's drink to the guest who came home from the camp and play the savage pipa, guitar and harp for him.
Until dusk, when the snow collapsed our tent, our frozen red flag could not fly in the wind.
We watched him walk eastward through the wheel tower door and enter the snowdrift on Tianding Road.
Then he disappeared around the corner, leaving only hoofprint.
Poems praising snow (2)
When the wind blows, the general hunts Weicheng. Grass withered eagle eye disease, snow as light as horseshoe.
Suddenly passed by Xinfeng City and returned to Xiliuying. Looking back at the shooting location, the clouds are thousands of miles away.
Poetry in praise of snow (3)
Candle dragon is a cold country, but its brilliance is still blooming.
Why don't the sun and the moon shine like this? Only the north wind came up angrily.
Yanshan snowflakes are as big as seats, and pieces of them blow off XuanYuanTai.
You miss your wife in December. Stop singing and laugh.
Looking at the pedestrians by the door, it's sad to miss the Great Wall.
Don't mention the sword to save the side, leave this tiger, gold, shovel and hammer.
There is a white arrow in the room, and spiders weave webs to make dust.
The arrow is not empty, people die today and never come back.
I can't bear to see this thing, it will burn to ashes.
The yellow river can hold soil, and the north wind hates rain and snow.
Poetry in praise of snow (4)
Looking south, the northern mountain is beautiful and snowy, like a cloud.
After the snow in Chu Qing, the afterglow of the sun shone from the forest. It was late, and Chang 'an was even more chilly.
Poetry in praise of snow (5)
The evening is still like rain, and the night is quiet and windy.
But I feel like splashing water, and I don't know that salt has been piled up in the yard.
At dawn, the book came, and a cold sound was painted on the eaves in the middle of the night.
Try to sweep the north platform to see the horse's ear, there is no burial and no sharp point.
On the first day of Chengtou, crows began to turn over, and there was no car in the mud.
The frozen jade building is cold and millet, and the light shakes the silver sea eyes to produce flowers.
There are several grasshopper-infested villages thousands of feet away.
The old illness has retired from poetry, and the icicles are empty and recall the willow tea.