The rooster shook down the enlightenment / hooked up / a round of wet sunrise / washerwoman / with a spoon / the fresh morning washed / fresh / watery
The wind waved its long arm / the curling smoke / blowing stumbled / the fragrance of the morning sun / from the mouth of an old farmer drifted down
The lake red peach blossom is her pink cheeks, the clear water lake is her autumn eyes, and the boat accompanied by the willow is her graceful body, and the curved alley is the pulse of her life
The lake red peach blossoms are the pink cheeks, and the lake is her autumn eyes, and the boat accompanied by the willow is her graceful body.
I don't know how many people, mention her, in front of their eyes will emerge such a picture: yellowed spring couplets are still left on the wall, still visible "years of peace" a few words. In front of the house, lying across the curved stone bridge; stone bridge, flowing with the winding river; the river, fluttering with the willow; willow, sleeping in the warm spring mud; spring mud, standing in the tender grass; grass, dotted with dewdrops; dewdrops, shaking with the glittering spring light. Neighbors and townspeople, in such a picture, start their day, running around until the sunset. After dinner, young and old have moved out of the home of the wicker chairs, benches, shaking a fan, sitting by the river to talk about family life, the young still chattering about their school, the old still chattering about their dentures, these topics never seem to let people get tired of.
How many sentimental literati came to her name, clad in a coat of sunshine, the heart of an obsession, just to breathe because she became sweet and sticky air. So, how many people for her sinking fish and falling geese, the closed moon and shy flowers of the appearance of the fall, have to use the sweetest words to express her adoration: "the sunrise river flowers red hot, the spring river green as blue" is her trousseau; "four hundred and eighty temples in the South, how many buildings in the misty rain "is her boudoir. And "thousands of warblers cry green reflecting red, water villages and mountains Guo wine flag wind" is her gift for the guests, this gift all the time without her that gentle and fresh breath.
She is so fascinating, she is so intoxicating. She is a fresh spring water, in each meet her heart flow through, let a person can not forget that kind of unspeakable feeling for a long time.
She is my dream of Jiangnan.
Jiangnan dream prose essay 2
Travelers think of Jiangnan, dream often call.
West Lake spring is always in, Jiangnan beauty empty sigh.
Hometown in the clouds, memory sprinkled willow bank.
After years of separation, can you not remember the south of the river?
The first time I saw you, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. The willows are spitting and the grass is stretching out. Dreamy Jiangnan flow is a thousand years of spring song, Ana colorful West Lake is full of too much mysterious atmosphere. In the red dust, there are pairs of footprints have kissed the soil by the willow tree many times, there are pairs of figures have visited the railings of the Broken Bridge several times; there are a pair of delicate hands in the regret of having mercifully stroked the gentle West Lake sacred water. Willow Wandering Ying, holding hands and leaving pictures; Willow Embankment and Bamboo Stream, pouring out words of love; Flower Harbor Path, holding hands, Three Pools and the Moon, caressing the willow branches by the Xilan Bridge, and reciting poems next to the Peony Pavilion. My lovely child, the spring of the West Lake, the warm wind often blowing, leisurely rippling in my `heart. When I think of you, I raise my head slightly and look at the lake quietly, the lake remains the same, the same. Oh, that is my dream of Jiangnan with Jun!
Oil-paper umbrella, move broken step, see the water of the West Lake in the sky dance. Falling on the body, happy in the heart, look at the umbrella side of the pearl flow. The rain is not wet, and the words are warm to the heart. Fireworks in March, the grass grows and warblers fly, who is my soul to this magnificent waters. The umbrella is held with both hands, one person out of only one hand, the left hand of the gentleman and my right hand. Under the umbrella to avoid the rain, love to listen to the language of the heart, head against the shoulder of the gentleman, bathed in the language of love. The alley hides love, the heart of the gentleman my heart, four eyes look at each other, how much promise, can not palpitate! A night of spring breeze more floating, wet clothes not wet peach blossom rain, long slender rain like a string hanging in front of the eyes, who struck my heart strings, let me chase the wind by the wind with the fragrance with the flower dance, so that I am in the dreamy happiness in the walk! The heart is already a thousand trees of pear blossom, when thanks to this blowing face not cold willow warm wind favor!
West Lake summer - rain - happiness
Small bridges and rivers, white walls and green tiles, willow curls and smoke slanting, lotus leaves field. The water is clear and the fish are chatting, the bridge is curved and the people are in the water. You do not say that I am beautiful, only that I come from the poem, with a wisp of gardenia fragrance, the breeze blowing hair like flowing willow. We take a row of willow leaf ark, along the water, skirt floating, sweeping the water, through the smoke and rain, with the sound of the pulp gently beat the days of the passing of the years. The grass is green, the willow is curved, dreaming of Jiangnan; the rain is silky, the lane is long, drunk in Jiangnan. Snuggled in the grass charming couple chairs, into the small bridge and flowing water in the scenery of the painting; linger in the pavilion show flowers in the garden scenery, poetry and painting, talk with the birds, read the moon in the water. Temporary separation will also leave a long time thinking about each other: text message to open the lotus shy, love letters fly to the rose show; phone pot open smile face Xian, the dream left behind Jiangnan sweet. Who does not love Jiangnan? A few more smoke and rain, a few more charming, a few more running water, a few more tenderness. I am the heart of the gentleman's beautiful Jiangnan woman, in the praise of the gentleman's voice, transformed into a lilac-like hazy elegant taste, y in the heart of the gentleman branded with an indelible imprint.
Pouring a glass of red wine with acacia, lips slightly open, lightly drunk, suspected of Jiangnan dream tears. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get a good look at this, but I think I'm going to be able to get a good look at this. The curved moon, light sadness, a few minutes of smoke and rain, a few minutes of running water, all given to the women of Jiangnan. So that you can never walk away from the curly water town, walk away from the lingering rainy alley, walk away from the willow winding, walk away from the image of the cheongsam. The light humming, no psychological rhyme, any song run tone. The world has said that Jiangnan is good, only you know.
West Lake Autumn - Sunset - Hurt
The sky is high, the clouds are clear, the water is long, the West Lake, the wind is cool. The sun sets in the sunset, the sun shines through the leaves of the trees. The dissolving sunlight through the leaves, the light torn into pieces scattered all over the lake, fragmented, slightly cool. The west wind, a pool of debris glittering with strange colors, moving with the wind, poignant, heart trembling: that is not a fragment of light in the shaking, that is my left behind pieces of text, that is my fly the remnants of literature, that is my heartbreaking love language song. It was swept away by the autumn wind and fell into the water, but also remains a little ink, a little bit of uncertainty, with the wind strangled into fine pieces. I'm not there, sinking fish thousand years, who will take it in? Text scattered in the net, a few struggles, a few more plowing, a few fragrance? Today, in my dream, I saw the water of the West Lake again, and in the sunset, I remembered you. Slightly lifted his head, quietly looked, the tears of the mother-in-law secretly flowed. The sparkling lake water is still the same, still. Just words hurt, broken is not able to return to the hometown, often dreaming of the landscape of Jiangnan, and that not too cold, but make me feel too sad winter!
West Lake winter - snow - away from home
West Lake snow, blinding and white. The greenish-white light is awe-inspiring. I can't help but step down gently, and a feeling of broken jade reaches my heart, accompanied by an amazingly crisp sound, like a crack in my heart. Broken bridge covered with white snow, the curved courtyard residual lotus white; flower harbor path through the bamboo building, three pools and the moon outside the building; snow in the search for plums in the Lingfeng, Leifeng Tower looking at the West Lake, a blanket of white.
Backpack, bid farewell to their hometown, counting a piece of snowflakes slowly drifting down. Your tears, my heart is broken, against my will only say that it does not matter, a wave of hands, only sigh the next generation. Little by little to move heavy footsteps, little by little to give up the heart of attachment, little by little to cut off the entanglement of love, little by little to move the cause of sadness, little by little to refuse to drunkenness of the excuse. Pick up the bag, pride and bravado, far away from home. Tell my father and mother, I'm going to go to the four sides of the wandering, forget his appearance ......
West Lake beauty - dream - left behind
"Sunrise river flowers red hot, spring to the river green as blue, can not remember the south of the river." Jiangnan's agile and flowing bridges and rivers are installed in the heart of the traveler, which is refreshing, can not remember the South of the Yangtze River? Jiangnan's fair lady walking in the melancholy rain and smoke, intoxicating, can not think of Jiangnan? Jiangnan's charming poetry has been passed down for thousands of years, but also fragrant, so that people can not release their hands, can not dream of Jiangnan? Jiangnan's parents leaning on the door looking through the eyes looking forward to the return of travelers, it is difficult to speak, can not want to Jiangnan?
Jiangnan dream essay essays 3In the morning, the wind and rain. Umbrella independence in the rain, quiet gaze, looking at the lake sky, slowly put down the umbrella, light rain scattered on me, slowly unfolding the palm of my hand, let the rain, drops in my fingers, like quiet, like lively, like sadness, like joy ...... raised his head, the raindrops wet my bangs, obediently affixed to my forehead, the raindrops gently broken in my cheeks! ...
Heh, life is so, every day running, when can we stop and slowly enjoy this Jiangnan rain?
Rain gradually big, including like that splash, such as injection of water light pouring on me, as if my body from the inside to the outside of the cleaning again and again, this feeling makes me involuntarily light humming, oh, this feeling how a word of cool?
The water column lagoon on the lake, the lake surface flooding such as Lan light waves, water curtains around the splash up, as if I was buried in the rain in the south of the river. The sky, it seems that the clouds through a ray of sunshine in the haze of my body. Oh, I may be hallucinating it, how can there be sunshine on a rainy day? Lake two rows of grass gently shaking seems to tell what ......
Looking, thinking, thinking a long time, gradually some lack of, and suddenly at this time, the haze of smoke and rain in the distance drifted to a figure, white clothes, such as the ink silk, when she slowly docked, I just see, she held a plum blossom oil-paper umbrella, wearing a Jiangnan silk made of white dress, green canvas boots, a cage of green smoke eyebrow, like knitting, like knit, like joy, like sadness, a little agar nose such as flowers, a cherry mouth, lips red teeth white, quiet and tranquil. A canopy of green silk on the head, a few wisps of floating in front of the eyes. This situation, this scene, this thing, this person, like a splash of ink painting, good a Jiangnan woman, only seen in my life!
Her pair of dynamic eyes seem to tell me the scenery of Jiangnan light, flat color moving, can not help but reach forward to explore, but not yet, see the woman Yu Yu away from Yu Yu far away, eyes hazy, and suddenly disappeared.
Dumbly looking at the direction of the woman left, want to be lost in thought, as if just tasted a Mingxiu, light fragrance light sweet, her elegance and dignity, let me forget the world, forget the rain, snow, wind and frost, and only want to be intoxicated with her in the world! Thinking of her disappearing to the end of the world, my eyes flooded with a little tears.
Gazing, sighing at the time the woman ten million less than her one, she is Jiangnan, Jiangnan is not a painting? There have been some people cloud: "the painting is Jiangnan, Jiangnan make painting, Jiangnan and painting, who is more beautiful than who? Who is more beautiful than the painting? A whisper: the belly with poetry from the gas. Perhaps this is the best answer.
Looking at the sky, the rain gradually stopped, looking at the scene of the first break after the rain, and then some sighs of relief, the work of the gods, the beauty of the pool ah!
"The morning wind blew gently, took away what?
Who is in the alfalfa bush, sighing about what?
The girl gazes quietly, pondering what?
What is the lark looking for in the air?
What does the fall wind wither when it falls?
What is the confusion of the willow flakes?"
Until someone woke me up, I realized that this is just a gorgeous dream, this is a dream of the rain and smoke of Jiangnan without the world's vision, without the false, evil, ugly and false, without the hustle and bustle!