we watch the green trees that circle your village, and the pale blue of outlying mountains. -Meng Haoran's
Passing the Old Man's Village, where thousands of miles of yingti are green and red, and the water village is full of mountains, fruits and wine flags. -Du Mu's "Jiangnan Spring"
The clothes and towels are rustling with jujube flowers, and the cars are ringing in the south of the village, and the cows and clothes are selling cucumbers. -Su Shi's "Huanxisha, Rustling Clothes and Towels Falling Jujube Flowers"
One water will protect the field, and two mountains will send green flowers. -Wang Anshi's "Mr. Yin's Wall of the Book Lake"
No one has ever fallen on the long fence, only dragonflies and butterflies fly. -Fan Chengda's "Four Seasons of Pastoral Miscellaneous Prosperity Part II"
There is a lonely village at the foot of the mountain and a plateau on the horizon. -Wang Wei's "Seven Poems of Pastoral Music, Part Five"
Fisherman by apricot tree altar, family in Peach Blossom Garden. -Wang Wei's Seven Pastoral Music (Part III) 2. Find a poem describing the countryside
Fan Chengda's Four Seasons Pastoral Miscellaneous Prosperity (Part I) Plums are golden and apricot fat, cauliflower is white and wheat flowers are rare. No one has ever fallen on the long fence, only dragonflies and butterflies fly. Weng Juan's "Country April" is green all over the mountains and rivers, and it rains in the discipline. Silkworm mulberry is planted in the fields. Yang Wanli's Xugong Store in the New City is sparsely hedged all the way, but the flowers at the top of the tree are not shaded. Children rush to chase Huang Die and fly into cauliflower, and there is nowhere to find it. Fan Chengda's Four Seasons Pastoral Miscellaneous Prosperity (the second) cultivates the fields by day, and the children in the village are in charge of their own affairs. Children and grandchildren do not work for farming, but also learn to grow melons by mulberry shade. Xin Qiji's "Qing" Who has white hair? Big children hoe beans in the east of the stream, while middle children are weaving chicken cages. They like children scoundrels best, and the stream heads lie and peel off the lotus. Meng Haoran's "Passing the Old Village" preparing me chicken and rice, old friend, you entertain me at your farm we watch the green trees that circle your village, and the pale blue of outlying mountains we open your window over garden and field, to talk mulberry and hemp with our cups in our hands wait till the Mountain Holiday, I am coming again in chrysanthemum time. Lu You's "Traveling to Shanxi Village" does not laugh at the farmhouse, but keeps enough chickens and dolphins in good years. A Farm-house on the Wei River by Wang Anshi, in the slant of the sun on the country-side, cattle and sheep trail home along the lane, and a rugged old man in a thatch door, leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy, Xunmai Miaoxiu, silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves, Fu Tian. The apricot blossoms are white at the edge of the tree. The axe is used to cut down the distant poplar, and the lotus hoe is used to shovel the spring veins. The old people look at the new calendar when they return to the nest. A disconsolate traveler. Modern Poetry: Rural Writing before Wheat Harvest/ It's so quiet in the fields of Taosha, and the wind is flowing among the golden wheat awns. It's so quiet in the fields, and the crows are melodious in the distant villages. It's so quiet in the fields where two donkeys, one big and one small, walk into the corner of their eyes. It's so quiet in the wheat ridge, watching the wind and grass. It's really quiet in the fields, like some kind of precursor before the war, and it's like a deep night waiting for the dawn. It's a winter afternoon when Qiyun Mountain first met you. I don't know. The Tao is whether the sun dyed you yellow or you dyed the sun yellow. You wore waist-length long hair and combed it by the wind to set off golden waves. Some nameless flowers were randomly inserted in your long hair to make you more amorous and full of golden maturity. Every inch of skin made me feel an impulse to touch. I always wanted to lie down in your lingering ups and downs and feel your deepest feelings. I even wanted to be the grass around you, laughing together and watching the sun rise and fall for thousands of years, watching you rain or shine. Standing at the highest place in southern Hunan every day with a firm infatuation, I always hope to see my dreams around my soul first, and the clouds must be your daughter. Otherwise, she won't stay in her arms. How can she persuade mountains beyond the mountains to stay? Although one or two naughty flowers can't help but leave quietly, you finally turn around resolutely. You listen to the songs of every bird in the most gentle way, and you look at the blooming of every mountain flower with the most leisurely eyes, only the mountain stream rushing day and night. Interpreting the loneliness of your people in the heights, it is always the grass-colored days. The glory is only the confession of the season, and the eternal green at the foot of the mountain is your commitment to spring. The country poem recalls that the midday sun shines on the green leaves on the tree and the warm wind blows the skirt of the girl under the tree. A tall goat, Covered with snowflake-like hair and swaggering in the beating light spot, the ancient tomb was rediscovered, and the light of the glass lamp patrolled in the crowd of onlookers. The blue slate covered with copper smell was inadvertently carved by the children. Behind the sunset was dusk. The bell of the oil peddler disappeared at the entrance of the village. The forever old locust tree was full of birds' chirping and people's singing. The blue smoke from grandpa's cigarette pot with white beard smoked out a sad legend. I remember the night many years ago, when you were wearing a moonlit shirt, you came from here in towards the distant, and you never came back from heartbroken. It's really a day when your intestines are broken. It's no longer very blue. The child who grazed cattle folded a butterfly flower after the rain and took it home. 3. sentences describing the village
1. In the village, the crowing of chickens, the barking of dogs, the neighing of horses and the barking of cattle, together with people's laughter, make up a vibrant morning song.
2. The whole mountain village of more than 9 households is shrouded under the green grape trellis.
3. More than a dozen diaojiao buildings covered by green branches and leaves, like coral reefs, are immersed in the deep blue sea.
4. In the moonlight, trees, houses and mounds are covered with a layer of tulle. The land outside the village seems to be asleep, so quiet. How mysterious it is.
5. In winter, the cottages of Ukrainian farmers are hidden in the folds of snow, like groups of boats in the valleys of stormy waves.
6. It's gray and yellow. There are several desolate villages lying far and near.
7. A lonely village on granite hangs there like a real bird's nest.
8. When I first came to the countryside, a charming scenery caught my eye, and I couldn't help crying: Ah, what a beautiful scenery! Lush trees stand tall, and mountains are winding and undulating. In the field, farmers' uncles were busy transplanting rice seedlings. At that moment, they became great painters, and the field was their picture scroll. They draw their hearts on the scroll with the brush of nature. Although their paintings are not the most famous works of art in the world, they are the most beautiful masterpieces.
9. White walls and green tiles are shaded by trees, and rivers pass around the village. The simple old people in the village sit in the shade and shake the cattail leaf fan to enjoy the cool. Children are running around playing. In the fields, the crops are green and attractive, and the people weeding are sweating like rain.
1. The village has a long history. It is said that a very big locust tree in our village passed the Eighth Route Army. There is a big hole at the bottom of the tree where four people can hide. It was this hole that the Eighth Route Army hid in. Dodged a bullet and survived. From then on, the name of our village was called Sophora japonica bottom.
11. In the valley, there is a beautiful village. The forest on the mountain is lush, the river in front of the village is crystal clear, the sky is blue and profound, and the air is fresh and sweet.
12. The night in the village is quiet and empty. Occasionally, the sound of footsteps and vague talk on the road attracted the dogs in the neighborhood to bark together. The barking of dogs rippled over the village. The moon hides in the clouds for a while and in the water for a while. In the moonlight, the sleep in the village is practical and hearty. Everything that happens in the moonlight is a secret. Don't tell.
13. The village path is full of rice and various vegetables on both sides, and a little fruit stands by the roadside, swaying branches and leaves. The breeze crept in quietly, blowing off a faint scent, which also made the villagers who were working smile with relief.
14. There are all kinds of crops around the village, including heavy red sorghum, curved ears of grain and soybeans, bursting corn and glistening cotton. There are peanuts, sweet potatoes and radishes under the ground, which are dug up by hardworking people. The joy of harvest bloomed on the faces of adults.
15. Outside the village, there are only small piles of naked wheat straw covered with flying snow.
16. Pale blue kitchen smoke rose from the village. The smell of rice and rape wafted with the wind.
17. Pyramid-like haystacks are sparsely arranged on the land, and the sun shines on them, shining with dazzling golden light.
18. In the fruit tree forest, cottages are dotted, the smoke from the kitchen is curled up, and the trees, red walls and black tiles are unpredictable, which is an idyllic rural scenery of the South China.
19. The field is in sight. The forest is listening. On the other side of the field, Bonnikov village sits like an old lady, putting everything that appears in the field, everything that can be heard and felt in the forest. Put them all in your pockets.
2. The wheat seedlings in the field are like a sea, and the scattered villages are unsinkable boats.
21. The agile children run on the dry road covered with barefoot prints, and they can hear the happy chats of farmers washing clothes by the pool and the axes of farmers repairing plows and rakes in the yard.
22. Tunzili. In front of the windows of every household, under the eaves, there are strings of red peppers, a mountain Queena Ding with a toot and a toot, a red buttercup, and a ear of tender corn qianzi cooked for winter.
23. Turning the hill, a yellow mud wall is faintly exposed, which is covered with rice stalks.
24. An old windmill stands on the hillside above the village, which can be blown by winds from all directions.
25. Deep in the valley, around the lake, there is a village, and the sunshine reflects the colorful autumn colors in the fruit orchard in the village.
26. A strip of cultivated land stretches across the village. One gray Tian Pu after another. Tian Pu is a mesh-like path with pear trees and plum trees.
27. Although people can't be seen in this ravine, the red-light fruits on persimmon trees along the way and the rising smoke from the kitchen add a bit of life.
28. On the farm, piles of sorghum stalks and bean stalks, large and small, crouched there lonely.
29. Strings of corn, dried apples and peaches strung with ropes are hung along the wall like knots, and many red peppers are mixed with them like decorations.
3. The night is really deep, and the birds are silent, only the frogs in the field play a piece of happy music. If you are not asleep, you can still hear the symphony of pastoral scenery played by crickets, frogs in the field and cricket. 4. Is it enough that the poems describing the countryside are
so fast? Lu Chai by Wang Wei, there seems to be no one on the empty mountain, and yet I think I hear a voice where sunlight, entering a grove, shines back to me from the green moss. The hibiscus flowers at the end of wood in Xinyiwu by Wang Wei, with red calyx in the mountains. There are no people in the stream, and they are all blooming and falling. In Qiu Qing by Wang Wei, after rain the empty mountain, stands autumnal in the evening, moonlight in its groves of pine, stones of crystal in its brooks, the bamboo leaves are returned to the Huan girl, and the lotus leaves the fishing boat. Take a casual spring break, Wang Fang. In the spring stream, Wang Wei's "a Farm-house on the Wei River" in the slant of the sun on the country-side, cattle and sheep trail home along the lane and a rugged old man in a thatch door, leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy there are whirring pheasants? full wheat-ears, silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves and Fu Tian meet each other, saying goodbye. That is to say, they admire leisure, and their songs are declining. Wang Jian's "Tian Jia Xing" has a male voice and a female voice, and people don't complain about words. Although it is hot in May, the eaves are full of cars, and the wild silkworms are singing. Zhang Ji's "Wild Old Songs" The old peasant lives in the mountains and cultivates three or four acres of mountains and fields. Miao Shu's tax is not allowed to be eaten, and it is turned into soil when it is input into the official warehouse. At the end of the year, he hoes the plough next to the empty room, and shouts to climb the mountain to collect acorns. Xijiang Jiake has hundreds of pearls and raises dogs in the boat to eat meat. Nie Yizhong's "Wounded Tianjia" sells new silk in February and crops in May. He has cured his eyes and healed his wounds. A thunder startled you. The Tian family was idle for a few days, and farming began. Ding Zhuang was in the wild, and the nursery was reasonable. When he returned, he often took a sip of water from the west stream. Hunger was not bitter, but he was happy. The warehouse had no lodging, and the corvee was not yet there. If he was ashamed of not cultivating, Lu would eat out. Du Xunhe There should be no plan to avoid the levy. In Wang Wei's Pastoral in Spring, the spring doves are singing in the house, and the apricot blossoms are white by the trees. With an axe, the poplar is cut far away, and the lotus hoe is used to shovel the spring veins. Returning to Yan to know the old nest, the old people look at the new calendar. When they are in danger, they are discontented and travel far. Meng Haoran's Crossing the Old People's Village, preparing me chicken and rice, old friend, In the snow in Xiaoxiang Dongting, the fisherman's net was frozen in the cold, and Mo Yan shot the wild goose-singing mulberry bow. Last year, rice was expensive for the army, but this year, rice was cheap, which hurt the farmers. Gao Motor officials hated wine and meat, and this generation was empty. The Chu people valued fish more than birds, so you should kill Nan Feihong in vain. I heard that men and women were killed everywhere, and kindness and love were also rented .. When will the sadness of this song end? Wen Tingyun's Song of Burning looks up at Nanshan, and the mountain burns the mountain field. The reddish evening disappears, and the short flame is connected again. The difference is to the rock, and the Ran Ran Lingqingbi. The low one is exhausted with the return air, and the distant one shines on the eaves. Neighbors can talk and lean on it. It is said that Chu is more vulgar, and burning She is an early field. Bean seedlings and insects promote it, and flowers are on the fence. After returning to the mulberry jujube, the fire is blown to the white grass, and the cane is reflected on the waist sickle. The wind drives the smoke of the oak leaves, and the oak trees connect with the Pingshan. The stars burst out of the sky, and the flying embers fall down the steps. The crow mother groans on her back and curses the rich age. Who knows, the lush appearance is the official tax. Fan Chengda's "Four Seasons Pastoral Fun (I)" has golden plums and fat apricots, and the wheat flowers are white 5. Good words and sentences to describe the countryside
1. After the rain, the fresh air came to the nose on the muddy road, and the fragrance of wild flowers curled around you, so you refused to leave. The grass that was still dirty at first suddenly seemed to be reborn, and the young trees struggled tenaciously in the wind and rain. How eye-catching the green branches and leaves were! Birds are also singing in the treetops, and the crisp singing and the rustling of leaves make people feel relaxed.
2. Without the noise of the city and the traffic in the city, the countryside looks quiet and clean, and I can hear the clear calls of birds. Crowds of sparrows chirped, and then landed on the telephone poles, like notes on the staff, jumping around on the branches, singing the branches, and then in the air.