"Plum Blossoms" Gao Qi, a poet of the Ming Dynasty.
The agaric branch is only in Yao Tai, who planted it everywhere in Jiangnan. In the snowy mountains, the high priests lie down, and in the moonlit forests, the beauties come.
The cold is based on the sparse shadow of Xiao Xiao bamboo, spring cover the residual fragrance indifferent moss. The first thing you need to do is to get a good song, and the east wind will stop you from opening it a few times.
②
Falling Plums Lu You
Drunkenly folding the remnants of the plums a couple of branches, may as well peach and plums since the time.
To the ice and snow condensation strict ground, force mediate the return of spring is actually who?
3
Ouyang Xiu, "Replying to Yuan Zhen in a Play"
The spring breeze has not reached the end of the world, and no flowers have been seen in the mountain towns in February.
There are still oranges in the snowy branches, and the bamboo shoots want to bud in the freezing thunder.
When I heard the geese returning at night, I was thinking of my hometown, and when I was sick, I felt the new year.
It was once a guest under the flowers of Luoyang, and although the wild fragrance is late, there is no need to contemplate it.
4
"White Plum" by Wang Coronation
This body is found in the snow and ice forests, different from the peaches and plums, which are mixed with the fragrant dust.
Suddenly, the scent of the night was clear and fragrant, and it was scattered into the spring of Qiankun for ten thousand miles.
5
"Spring" by Zheng Min (a poet of the "Nine Leaves School of Poetry," circa 1940s) is like an unfolding axial painting that goes from the earth, to the tops of the trees, and only then to the sky. ......
And it is also like a piece of music that announces itself with a heavy voice at the beginning of the piece. And like a piece of music, which at the beginning announces its hope with a heavy voice,
this rising, rising finally becomes, countless sharp and joyful sounds.
We all listen to this voice, whose outgoing penetrates the cold, hard winter ground,
which waited so long in the dark heart of the earth, and now denies to us that there is a hand of creation.
Like a dancer, it rises slowly, and with her "living" arms it lifts high:
Don't you see? A few new leaves on the dead branches, deep black and light green let the rain soaked everything.