On the edge of autumn
Chrysanthemum is unique in color and fragrance.
An antique lady.
I am permeated with the charm of Tang and Song Dynasties.
Chrysanthemums bloom slightly in the wind.
faint yellow
How close is it to a kind of
A carefree mood
Step by step out of the depths of autumn
What kind of love?
Let me face chrysanthemum.
A noble and indifferent woman
Your eyes pierced my spine.
Let me after the cold silence.
I found my own.
That purity
Fresh and windy chrysanthemums
Don't envy the beauty of peony.
Don't envy the glitz of the world
In the season of falling leaves
You use a unique quiet and elegant.
Show a kind of
Extraordinary temperament
That's what I do.
Standing on the horizon of autumn
Look at a chrysanthemum for a long time
My mind is getting empty.
The gains and losses of honor and disgrace have long been forgotten.
The chrysanthemums are very close.
Nanshan is no longer far away.
Wild chrysanthemum in my hometown
The wild chrysanthemums in my hometown are shining stars.
Scattered on the green land
There are white clouds, villages and streams.
And you as elegant as wild chrysanthemum.
The wild chrysanthemum in my hometown is a long rainbow.
Hanging in the sky of memory
There is youth, laughter and love.
There is also a pure you as wild chrysanthemum.
Now I'm lying in this city.
Bite you and detain you in the countryside.
Think of a dream that has been lost for years.
The dream is full of wild chrysanthemums.
Very sad and beautiful.
2. What poems about chrysanthemums are translated into English, namely, Golden Flower Terrace and Chrysanthemum Terrace? Your tears are shining. With pain. Your tears are weak, and you hang the crescent moon in the paste palace with pain. The pale moon bent down and hooked it. A cold night will turn into frost if it lasts too long. The night is too long to freeze into frost. Who froze in despair on the tower? Who is cold and desperate in the attic? The rain drum fell gently on the crimson pane. The rain is very light. Open the scarlet window, and my fate is written on the paper that flutters with the wind. My life was blown to paper by the wind. Distant dreams want to rise like incense. Dreams turn into a wisp of fragrance in the distance. I entered the night is your image. Your face is gone with the wind. Golden flowers cry and land on the ground in autumn. Chrysanthemum is full of scars. The trace of your smile, your heart is empty now. Your smile turned yellow. My thoughts are heartbreaking. Let the north rest in peace. The wind blows, and my thoughts flow quietly in the north wind. Before dawn, your shadow is clear and close The night is still early, and your shadow is constantly being cut. The only companion of my soul on the lake, a mirror couple, left me alone on the lake. In the evening air, beautiful women are indifferent. At dusk, flowers are scattered everywhere. A glorious fate is hard to swallow. Don't cross the river. The fate of the withered world is tragic. Don't cross the river, you evil heart. Divide the sinking autumn heart into two halves and drown in the long shore that you will not reach. I'm afraid you'll never get ashore. Shake the mountains and rivers that echoed with the sound of hooves. Whose country's hooves are crazy. As time went by, the armor was torn to pieces. My uniform roared with vicissitudes of life. The sky is getting brighter. Your eyes are slender and soft, weaving the right of sadness. You sigh softly all night. Oh, Rao is so euphemistic. Chrysanthemum is in tears. Chrysanthemum is full of scars and traces of your smile. Your heart is empty now, and your smile turns yellow, which is heartbreaking. The wind blows, and my thoughts wander quietly in the north wind. Almost at dawn, your shadow is so close to the night and still young, and your shadow continues to cut. The only companion of my soul on the lake, a couple's reflection, left me alone in pairs on the lake. On a cool night, chrysanthemums are everywhere in the air. The trace of your smile, your heart is empty now. Your smile turned yellow. My mind is quiet, rest and the north wind blows. Night has just come, your shadow is so close to me, and your shadow has been cutting my soul's only companion on the lake, the two of us, leaving me alone in pairs on the lake.
Does anyone know which foreign poems can represent autumn, such as chrysanthemums, crickets and geese? I miss a person, far away from home.
I felt something, and it was deeply rooted in my intestines.
I can't be far away from home, and I don't look forward to it every day.
I can't solve the problem in depth and don't think about it every night.
What's more, I stayed alone in the empty hall this evening.
Autumn is unknown, rain and dust.
If you don't learn Buddhism, you can forget your peace of mind. [/size][/color]
Author: [/size][/color]
Bai Juyi (772-846) was born in Weinan, Shaanxi. In his early years, he was enthusiastic about helping the world, emphasizing the political function of poetry and doing his best to make it popular. He wrote 60 poems, New Yuefu, Qin Zhongyin, which truly made people sick by singing only, and every sentence must be tuned, just like Du Fu's "Three Officials" and "Three Farewells". The long narrative poems "Song of Eternal Sorrow" and "Whispering" represent his highest artistic achievements. Middle-aged people encounter setbacks in officialdom. "Since then, the career has been long-term, and the world has never been opened." But he still wrote many good poems and did many good things for the people. Hangzhou West Lake and Bai Causeway commemorate him. In his later years, he sent his feelings to the mountains and rivers, and also wrote some small characters. There is a poem for Liu Yuxi: "Don't listen to the old songs, but listen to the new word Yang Liuzhi. It can be seen that he has read some new words. One of the poems, Flowers Are Not Flowers, has a hazy beauty, which was greatly appreciated by later poets such as Ouyang Xiu, Zhang Xian and Yang Shen.
[color=Red][size=4]
Appreciation: [/size][/color]
Friends and relatives far away make people think far away, and the desire in their hearts makes people turn to the ileum. This is a shining passage, but it can hardly be found in all the selected books. From time to time, it may spread to "distant countries" and make the world "stuck in deep intestines".
4. Does anyone know which foreign poems can represent autumn, such as chrysanthemums, crickets and geese? I miss a person, far away from home.
I felt something, and it was deeply rooted in my intestines. I can't be far away from home, and I don't look forward to it every day.
I can't solve the problem in depth and don't think about it every night. What's more, I stayed alone in the empty hall this evening.
Autumn is unknown, rain and dust. If you don't learn Buddhism, you can forget your peace of mind. [size] [/color] [color = red] [size = 4] Author: [/size][/color] Bai Juyi (772-846) was born in Weinan, Shaanxi.
In his early years, he was enthusiastic about helping the world, emphasizing the political function of poetry and doing his best to make it popular. He wrote 60 poems, New Yuefu, Qin Zhongyin, which truly made people sick by singing only, and every sentence must be tuned, just like Du Fu's "Three Officials" and "Three Farewells". The long narrative poems "Song of Eternal Sorrow" and "Whispering" represent his highest artistic achievements.
Middle-aged people encounter setbacks in officialdom. "Since then, the career has been long-term, and the world has never been opened." But he still wrote many good poems and did many good things for the people. Hangzhou West Lake and Bai Causeway commemorate him. In his later years, he sent his feelings to the mountains and rivers, and also wrote some small characters.
There is a poem for Liu Yuxi: "Don't listen to the old songs, but listen to the new word Yang Liuzhi. It can be seen that he has read some new words. One of the poems, Flowers Are Not Flowers, has a hazy beauty, which was greatly appreciated by later poets such as Ouyang Xiu, Zhang Xian and Yang Shen.
[color=Red][size=4] Appreciation: [/size][/color] Friends and relatives in the distance make people yearn, and the yearning in their hearts makes people turn to their hearts. This is a shining passage, but it can hardly be found in all the selected books.
From time to time, it may spread to "distant countries" and make the world "stuck in deep intestines".
I found some of the ten foreign poems, you can choose them yourself! Spanish poet petofi "I would like to be a torrent" I would like to be a torrent, a small river between mountains, flowing over rugged roads and rocks … as long as my lover is a small fish, swimming happily in my waves.
I would like to be a barren forest, on both sides of the river, bravely fighting against the wind … as long as my lover is a bird, nesting and singing in my dense branches. I would like to be a ruin, on a steep rock, this silent destruction does not make me feel depressed … as long as my lover is a green ivy, climbing up and down my desolate forehead intimately.
I would like to be a hut, at the bottom of a deep valley, at the top of the hut, to be destroyed by wind and rain … as long as my lover is a lovely flame, flashing slowly and happily in my stove. I would like to be a cloud, a gray broken flag, lazily floating around in the vast sky, as long as my lover is a coral sunset glow, blooming brilliantly beside my pale face.
Short Song [Ireland] Sydney is a woman with red lips. Between the avenue and the secluded path, it leads to a humid distance, where some Castanopsis trees lift themselves high from the rushes.
And a piece of nonsense is a flower covered with mud. What keeps withered chrysanthemums alive? At this moment, only the singing bird has a premonition of what is happening in front of her eyes. Rilke [Germany] No: My heart will become a tower, and I will be on its edge; There is nothing there, only pain and silence, only the world.
Only one thing seems lonely in greatness. Sometimes it darkens and sometimes it brightens, leaving only the last eager face, abandoned as a person who will never be comforted. Only the farthest stone face is willing to bear its internal weight, but the vast space that quietly destroys it forces it to become more and more sacred.
Scenery [Sweden] There is a stone bridge in the green field of Marthinsen. A child stood there looking at the running water.
Far away: a horse with a sunset on its back. It drinks quietly and its mane is scattered in the river. Tagore The furthest distance in the world is not 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 when I stand in front of you, but when you know you love each other, but you can't be together. The furthest distance in the world is not knowing that you love each other, but you can't resist this yearning, but you have to deliberately. Pretend not to put you in your heart at all. The furthest distance in the world is not when you can't resist this yearning, but when you pretend not to put you in your heart at all, you dig an insurmountable ditch for the person who loves you with your indifferent heart.
Small thoughts [Austria] Kafka's small thoughts/your jumping dance/warm air/feet raised from the sparkling grass/grass is difficult to control in the wind [Sweden] saxophone We weave garlands here/violets woven with thunder/I only use a circle of grass stalks/full of silent language/it makes lightning from the air generate [plus] Marcel. Gravel edge/mirror of water/reflection of trees/leisurely stroll/this castle/becoming a symbol of an idyllic poem: Hugo friend, the last sentence! Virgin, cry when I die! -Andre Che Nier friend, the last sentence! From then on, I will close this book forever, and from then on, my mind will change. I no longer pay attention to people's noise.
Because, what does this sometimes have to do with the source of a long running water? What does this have to do with me? I love the future. This whistling autumn wind will drift to that world and sweep it mercilessly. Endless wings will sweep away the yellow leaves on the tree and take away the poet's beautiful sentences. Yes, I am still young, although new wrinkles are carved on my forehead, passion and poetry are constantly emerging, just like wrinkles plowed by my thoughts. Looking back on the years that have passed unconsciously, I have never seen the spring flowers of the 30-degree autumn moon.
I am the pride of this era! Due to sudden awakening, my soul abandons fallacies and recognizes right and wrong every year. My faith only pursues you, ah, sacred motherland, sacred freedom! I gnash my teeth and hate oppression. So, when I heard that somewhere in the world, under the cruel sky, under the clutches of tyrants, people are crying for the land and being slaughtered; When our mother Greece was betrayed by the Christian king to the Turkish executioner, she was cut open and was on the verge of extinction; When bloody Ireland was crucified; When Teutonic people struggled under the partition of the powerful countries in chains; When Lisbon, once beautiful and jubilant, was ravaged by Miguel and hung on the gallows; When Albania let Cato's motherland toss; When eating and sleeping in Naples; When Austria broke the wings of the Venice lion with a wooden stick and a heavy and shameful scepter of fear; When Modena was strangled by the Austrian archduke, she was dying; When Dresden fought and cried in front of the old king's bed; When Madrid fell asleep again, it was already dead sleepy; When Vienna occupied Milan; As soon as the Belgian lion bowed his head, he was like a cow plowing a field, and even his teeth were gone; When the hateful Cossack was bestial, he insulted the dead Warsaw with unkempt hair, destroyed her tattered but chaste and sacred shroud, and threw himself on the virgin lying upright in the tomb. Ah! So I cursed these emperors in their courts and nests, and their horses were covered with blood! I feel that poets are their judges! I feel that angry poets will open their powerful fists, just like showing them to the public, tie them to their thrones, then use loose crowns as their shackles, and then expel these blessed emperors and carve poems on their foreheads for future people to read! Ah! Poets should devote themselves to unarmed people.
So I forgot my love, my children, my family, my gentle songs and the leisure of quietism. I added a bronze string to the harp! Pushkin in winter morning (Russia 1799- 1837).
6. I found some of the ten foreign poems. You can choose them yourself! Spanish poet petofi "I would like to be a torrent" I would like to be a torrent, a small river between mountains, flowing over rugged roads and rocks … as long as my lover is a small fish, swimming happily in my waves.
I would like to be a barren forest, on both sides of the river, bravely fighting against the wind … as long as my lover is a bird, nesting and singing in my dense branches. I would like to be a ruin, on a steep rock, this silent destruction does not make me feel depressed … as long as my lover is a green ivy, climbing up and down my desolate forehead intimately.
I would like to be a hut, at the bottom of a deep valley, at the top of the hut, to be destroyed by wind and rain … as long as my lover is a lovely flame, flashing slowly and happily in my stove. I would like to be a cloud, a gray broken flag, lazily floating around in the vast sky, as long as my lover is a coral sunset glow, blooming brilliantly beside my pale face.
Short Song [Ireland] Sydney is a woman with red lips. Between the avenue and the secluded path, it leads to a humid distance, where some Castanopsis trees lift themselves high from the rushes.
And a piece of nonsense is a flower covered with mud. What keeps withered chrysanthemums alive? At this moment, only the singing bird has a premonition of what is happening in front of her eyes. Rilke [Germany] No: My heart will become a tower, and I will be on its edge; There is nothing there, only pain and silence, only the world.
Only one thing seems lonely in greatness. Sometimes it darkens and sometimes it brightens, leaving only the last eager face, abandoned as a person who will never be comforted. Only the farthest stone face is willing to bear its internal weight, but the vast space that quietly destroys it forces it to become more and more sacred.
Scenery [Sweden] There is a stone bridge in the green field of Marthinsen. A child stood there looking at the running water.
Far away: a horse with a sunset on its back. It drinks quietly and its mane is scattered in the river. Tagore The furthest distance in the world is not 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 when I stand in front of you, but when you know you love each other, but you can't be together. The furthest distance in the world is not knowing that you love each other, but you can't resist this yearning, but you have to deliberately. Pretend not to put you in your heart at all. The furthest distance in the world is not when you can't resist this yearning, but when you pretend not to put you in your heart at all, you dig an insurmountable ditch for the person who loves you with your indifferent heart.
Small thoughts [Austria] Kafka's small thoughts/your jumping dance/warm air/feet raised from the sparkling grass/grass is difficult to control in the wind [Sweden] saxophone We weave garlands here/violets woven with thunder/I only use a circle of grass stalks/full of silent language/it makes lightning from the air generate [plus] Marcel. Gravel edge/mirror of water/reflection of trees/leisurely stroll/this castle/becoming a symbol of an idyllic poem: Hugo friend, the last sentence! Virgin, cry when I die! -Andre Che Nier friend, the last sentence! From then on, I will close this book forever, and from then on, my mind will change. I no longer pay attention to people's noise.
Because, what does this sometimes have to do with the source of a long running water? What does this have to do with me? I love the future. This whistling autumn wind will drift to that world and sweep it mercilessly. Endless wings will sweep away the yellow leaves on the tree and take away the poet's beautiful sentences. Yes, I am still young, although new wrinkles are carved on my forehead, passion and poetry are constantly emerging, just like wrinkles plowed by my thoughts. Looking back on the years that have passed unconsciously, I have never seen the spring flowers of the 30-degree autumn moon.
I am the pride of this era! Due to sudden awakening, my soul abandons fallacies and recognizes right and wrong every year. My faith only pursues you, ah, sacred motherland, sacred freedom! I gnash my teeth and hate oppression. So, when I heard that somewhere in the world, under the cruel sky, under the clutches of tyrants, people are crying for the land and being slaughtered; When our mother Greece was betrayed by the Christian king to the Turkish executioner, she was cut open and was on the verge of extinction; When bloody Ireland was crucified; When Teutonic people struggled in chains under the division of the great powers; When Lisbon, once beautiful and jubilant, was ravaged by Miguel and hung on the gallows; When Albania let Cato's motherland toss; When eating and sleeping in Naples; When Austria broke the wings of the Venice lion with a wooden stick and a heavy and shameful scepter of fear; When Modena was strangled by the Austrian archduke, she was dying; When Dresden fought and cried in front of the old king's bed; When Madrid fell asleep again, it was already dead sleepy; When Vienna occupied Milan; As soon as the Belgian lion bowed his head, he was like a cow plowing a field, and even his teeth were gone; When the hateful Cossack was bestial, he insulted the dead Warsaw with unkempt hair, destroyed her tattered but chaste and sacred shroud, and threw himself on the virgin lying upright in the tomb. Ah! So I cursed these emperors in their courts and nests, and their horses were covered with blood! I feel that poets are their judges! I feel that angry poets will open their powerful fists, just like showing them to the public, tie them to their thrones, then use loose crowns as their shackles, and then expel these blessed emperors and carve poems on their foreheads for future people to read! Ah! Poets should devote themselves to unarmed people.
So I forgot my love, my children, my family, my gentle songs and the leisure of quietism. I added a bronze string to the harp! Pushkin in winter morning (Russia 1799- 1837).
7. Poem on Chrysanthemum 1, under the hedge of chrysanthemum picking, leisurely see Nanshan.
Picking chrysanthemums under the east fence, leisurely, Nanshan in the distance comes into view.
-Wei and Jin Tao Yuanming's "Drinking the Fifth Day"
I'll come back at chrysanthemum time when I have a holiday on the mountain.
The Double Ninth Festival is here. Please come here to see chrysanthemums.
-Tang Meng Haoran "Passing the Old Village"
3. The new chrysanthemums are not in bloom yet, although autumn has come.
Chrysanthemums have been planted near the fence, but they haven't bloomed in autumn.
-isn't Tang Jiaoran looking for Lu Hongxian at home?
It's not that chrysanthemum is preferred among flowers, but that this flower is even more flowerless.
It's not because chrysanthemums are favored among flowers, but because they can't see better flowers after blooming.
-Tang Yuanzhen's "Chrysanthemum"
5. Chrysanthemum is crying.
In the morning, the chrysanthemum outside the railing was covered with a layer of sad smoke, and the orchid dew seemed to be crying dew.
-Song Yan Shu's "Butterfly Lovers, Threshold, Chrysanthemum, Sorrow, Tears and Dew"
6, the west wind is full of plants, and the cold butterfly is hard to come.
Autumn wind is rolling and chrysanthemums are swaying in the garden. The stamens are full of chill, and butterfly bees are hard to come.
-Don Huang Chao's Chrysanthemum
7, the world is difficult to laugh, chrysanthemums must be inserted.
Worries in the world make it hard to laugh once in a lifetime. When chrysanthemums are in full bloom, you should leave with your head held high.
-Tang Du Mu's Nine-Day Mountain Climbing
8. Qiuju is lustful and shows her beauty.
Autumn chrysanthemum is colorful, dewy, wet and flowery.
-Wei and Jin Tao Yuanming's Drinking Four
9. The horse wears a trail chrysanthemum with a yellow beginning and thinks that the horse is long and wild.
The horse is walking on the mountain road, the chrysanthemum is yellowish, and it is intentional to walk freely.
-Yucheng, Wang Song, "Country Travel, Horse Crossing the Mountain Path, Chrysanthemum Beginning to Yellow"
10, Fang Jukai Lin Yao, Song Qingyan watched the train.
Lin Zenghui's fragrant chrysanthemums bloom, and pines and cypresses line up on the rocks.
-Wei and Jin Dynasties Tao Yuanming's Book of the Republic of China, Part II