A poem by Xu Zhimo, 18 stanzas, one paragraph, 3 lines, the first two lines are the same, what's the title?

1, Zhimo's poem

The Joy of Snowflakes

If I were a snowflake,

fluttering and dashing in mid-air,

I would surely recognize my direction-

Flying, flying, flying, - -

This ground has my direction.

Not to the cold and lonely valleys,

Not to the bleak foothills,

Not to the deserted streets of despondency--

Fly, fly, fly,--

You see, I have my direction!

Fluttering in mid-air,

recognizing the secluded dwelling,

waiting for her to come and visit in the garden-

Flying, flying, flying,--

Ah, she has had the fresh scent of vermilion plums!

At that time I, with my lightness of body,

was dipped in the lapel of her garment,

and close to the soft waves of her heart,

dissolved, dissolved, dissolved,

dissolved into the soft waves of her heart! her softly rippling heart!

Shayonara's song

For the Japanese girl

Most of all, it is the tenderness of that bowed head,

like the shyness of a water lotus flower that cannot resist the cool wind,

Saying goodbye, saying goodbye,

That preciousness has a honey-sweet sorrow in it-

This is the most important thing to remember. >

Shayanara!

It's a cowardly world

It's a cowardly world:

There's no room for love, no room for love!

Drape your full hair,

Bare your one foot;

Follow me, my love,

Forsake the world

Martyrize our love!

I take your hand,

Love, you follow me;

Listening to the thorns pierce our feet through,

Listening to the hailstones cleave our heads,

You follow me,

I take your hand,

Escape from the prison, and restore our freedom!

Follow me,

My love!

Earth has fallen at our backs,-

Look, is it not the white sea?

White sea,

Boundless freedom, I am with you and in love!

Look with my finger,

That little star of blue on the edge of the sky--

That's an island with grass,

flowers, beautiful beasts and birds;

Get into this light and fast dinghy,

and go to that ideal heaven! --

Love, rejoice, and be free--

Farewell to earth, forever!

Go, earth, go!

I am independent on the peak of a high mountain;

Go, earth, go!

I face the infinite firmament.

Go, youth, go!

Buried with the herbs of the valley;

Go, youth, go!

Sorrow to the crows of the twilight sky.

Go, dreamland, go!

I break the jade cup of vision;

Go, dreamland, go!

I laugh to be congratulated by the winds of the mountains and the waves of the sea.

Go, all kinds, go!

Currently there are peaks that plunge into the sky;

Go, all, go!

Currently there is infinite infinity!

To seek a star

I ride a blind horse with a crutching leg,

and lash out into the darkness;--

Lash out into the darkness,

I straddle a blind horse with a crutching leg!

I charge into this black and dim night,

To seek a star;-

To seek a star,

I charge into this black and dim wilderness.

Tired, tired of the animal at my crotch,

that the star does not yet appear;-

that the star does not yet appear,

tired, tired of the body in the saddle.

This time a crystal-like brightness came out of the sky,

A herd fell in the wilderness,

and a corpse lay in the darkness. --

This time a crystal-like light came out of the sky!

I have a love affair

I have a love affair;--

I love the stars in the heavens;

I love their crystal:

There is no such alien deity on earth.

In the twilight of cold twilight winter,

In the lonely gray morning.

On the sea, on the mountain tops after the storm-

There is always one, ten thousand stars!

The knowing of the little grass and flowers by the mountain streams,

The joy of the little children on the high buildings,

The traveler's lamp with its southern needle:--

The twinkling spirit of ten thousand miles away!

I have a broken soul,

like a heap of broken crystals,

scattered in the withered grass of the wilderness-

satiated with the attentions of your one instant.

The icy excitement and tenderness of life,

I have tasted it, I have tolerated it;

Sometimes the autumnal chants of the crickets under the step masonry,

cause my heart to break, and force me to shed zero tears.

I bare my frank heart,

I offer love to the stars of the day,

let life be phantasmagorical or real

the earth is in or out of the pie-

there will always be unobtrusive stars in the big sky!

The Leifeng film under the moon

I send you a Leifeng Tower shadow,

The sky is full of dense black and white clouds;

I send you a Leifeng Tower top,

The bright moon is in the heart of the ripe waves.

The deep night, the shadow of the tower,

The color of the moon, the delicate scales of the waves--

If you and I were to swing an uncovered dinghy,

If you and I were to create a complete dream!

In the Shanghai-Hangzhou car

Hurry! Rush rush rush!

A roll of smoke, a slice of mountain, a few cloud shadows,

a stretch of water, a bridge, the sound of a sculling boat,

a forest of pines, a clump of bamboos, a flurry of red leaves:

Colorful fields, colorful autumn scenery,

dreamlike distinctions, blurs, and fades,

To create a complete dream! p>Rush! Is it the wheel or the time?

Prompted the old autumn face, prompted the old life!

Shihu Hutong No. 7

Our small garden, sometimes rippling with infinite tenderness:

Smiling Vine Maiden, bared her crispy arms to let the persimmon palm of a ball of silk,

Hundred feet of acacia Weng, in the breeze, stooped down to embrace the Tang Aunt,

Yellow dog in the hedge, waiting for the sleepy Perle, its little friend

Small finch's new marriage proposal of the song of love, in the charming singing endlessly-

Small finch's new proposal of the song of love,

Small finch's new proposal of love. In winks sung endlessly--

Our little garden, sometimes swept with infinite tenderness.

Our small garden, sometimes described vaguely dreamscape;

The rain and the green shade of the garden, weaving into a silent netherworld,

The small frog sat alone in the chest of the remnants of the orchid, listening to the courtyard of earthworms,

A piece of endless rain clouds, tired of the top of the old acacia tree,

Sweeping the eaves of the round dance, is it a bat, or is it the dragonflies?

Our little garden is sometimes described as a vague dream.

Our small garden, sometimes lightly sighing with a sigh of regret;

No matter in the rainstorm, the rain hammer under the pounding of the bright red countless,

No matter in the new autumn, the green leaves have not withered melancholy resignation tree,

No matter in the night, the moon on the clouds of the boat to return to the west wall has been done,

Distant alleys of allium dew of the music, a burst of the cold wind blowing through! --

Our little garden garden, sometimes with a soft sigh of nay.

Our little garden garden, sometimes immersed in joy;

The twilight after the rain, the courtyard full of only the beautiful shade, the fresh fragrance and the cool breeze,

A large number of Jianweng, huge bottles in hand, the crippled feet pointing straight up to the sky,

One catty, two catties, the bottom of the cup to drink up, full of the joy of wine, full of the red face of the wine,

Continuous beads of laughter in the ringing sound of the wine, floating in the godlike wine --

Our little garden garden, sometimes steeped in joy.

Remaining Poems

Who do I blame? Blame whom? Is this thunder in the green sky?

Shut it up, lock it up; hurry up and heap dust on the porcelain tiles!

Don't look at the white stone steps, but tomorrow,

Grass grows in the cracks, and berries are all over the stone and pine!

There are fish in the jade tank under the corridor, real phoenix tails,

but who else changes the water, who fishes for grass, who feeds them?

It won't take more than three to five days to turn over the white belly bulging eyes,

Not floating dead, but also to let the ice points to pressure a flat!

Top poor is that a few red-beaked green hair parakeets,

Let your mother teach the top good, will follow the hole xiao singing,

Really spoiled, feeding a late, on the name of the people scolded,

Now, you call to go! I'm not going to be able to get a good look at this, but I'm going to be able to get a good look at it! ......

2. A Night in Philippine

A Night in Philippine

You're really leaving, tomorrow? That I, that I,......

You don't have to care, sooner or later there will be that day;

You are willing to remember me, remember me,

Otherwise forget about the world

There is me, so as not to recall the time when the space is annoyed,

Take it as a dream, a fantasy;

Just take it as a dream, a fantasy.

Just think of it as the remnants of the red we saw the day before yesterday,

Timidly trembling in front of the wind, a petal,

two petals, the ground, asked to be stepped on, turned into mud ......

Alas, asked to be stepped on, turned into mud - turned into mud pour clean,<

This half-dead is what is called suffering,

Looking at the shabby, cumbersome, call people white eyes-

The sky is the limit! Why did you come, why did you come ......

I can't forget you, that day you came,

It was as if the darkness of the future had seen the light of day,

You are my Mr., my love, my benefactor,

You taught me what life is, what love is,

You awakened me from my stupor, and repaid me for my days. of stupor and repaid my naivety.

Without you how could I know that the sky is high and the grass is green?

Touch my heart, how fast it beats now;

Touch my face again, how burnt it is, thanks to the darkness of this night

I cannot see it; Love, I am out of breath,

don't kiss me; I cannot bear to live in this blaze of fire,

and this time my soul is like

cooked iron on a brick of fire, under the mallet of love, smashing, smashing, smashing. , sparks

flew in all directions ...... I fainted, hold me,

Love, let me die here in the quiet garden,

with my eyes closed, on your breast, how beautiful!

The wind in the white trees overhead, rustling,

is my funeral song, and this breeze,

blown from the olive groves, with the scent of pomegranates,

carries my soul away, and the fireflies,

the affectionate and attentive fireflies, with them to light the way,

I will stop again when I get to the bridge of the three-ringed cave,

and listen to you.

Listening to you hold my half-warm body here,

Calling me sadly, kissing me, shaking me, smacking me,......

I'll just follow the breeze again with a smile,

Let him lead me to heaven, hell, wherever he wants,

Anyhow, I've lost the loathsome life to realize that I have to die for the sake of my life. This death

in love, this love center of the death, is not as strong as

500 times the birth? ...... Selfish, I know,

But what do I care ...... you accompany me to death?

What, not a pair is not exactly "love death",

To fly up also need two pairs of wings to play partner,

Into the heaven is not the same to take care of,

I can not do without you, you can not do without me;

If the hell, I go alone you are even more worried,

If the hell, I go alone you are more worried,

If the hell, I go alone you are even more worried.

You say that hell may be more civilized than the world

(although I don't believe it,) like my delicate flower,

I can't guarantee that I won't be hit by storms and rains again,

then I'll call out to you and you won't be able to hear me clearly,

that's not to be relieved, but to be thrown into the mud pit!

The cold-eyed ghost has conspired with the cold-hearted man to

laugh at my fate and your cowardly carelessness?

There is truth in that, so what am I to do?

Living is difficult, too difficult to die shall not be free,

I and do not want you to sacrifice your future for me ......

Ugh! You say still live and wait, wait for that day!

Is there such a day?

But you have to leave at dawn, can you really bear to

Lose me and go?

But this flower, without sunshine, without manna,

will not die without the tips of its petals scorching, how pitiful!

Thou canst not forget me, love, except in thy heart,

I have no life; yea, I will do as thou sayest; I will wait,

I must wait patiently for the iron tree to blossom;

love, thou art ever a star above my head:

If, unfortunately, I should die, I would be a firefly,

and fly dark and dreary,

in the garden, next to the roots of the grass,

with the sun, and with no sun, and no manna to dip. Flying in the dark,

flying from dusk to midnight, midnight to dawn,

wishing that the sky would not be cloudy, and that I could look into the sky

The big, unchanging star in the sky, that's you,

wishing that you would put more light on the ground for me, through the night,

through the sky, and pass through a little bit of love's rhinoceros... ...

June 11, 1925 in Mount Vernon

Moanings

I would also like to praise this marvelous universe,

I would also like to forget that there are sorrows on earth,

Like a plumed sparrow that is not tired of hanging,

Singing on the morning morning, jumping at dusk;

If she were always at my side like a breeze!

I would like my verse to flow like water,

I would like my heart to be like a fish in a pond;

But now the anointing is on my heart,

And never again will I be asked about my idle poetry? --

God! Not a day goes by that you do not return her life and liberty!

Occasionally

I am a cloud in the sky,

Occasionally projected in the center of your waves--

You need not be surprised,

Moreover, you need not rejoice--

In the twinkling of an eye The trail is extinguished.

You and I met on the dark sea,

You have your, I have my, direction;

It is better if you remember,

it is better if you forget,

the light that shines from each other at this rendezvous!

I came to the Yangzi River to buy a handful of lotus seedpods

I came to the Yangzi River to buy a handful of lotus seedpods;

Hand peeled off layer after layer of lotus seedpods,

Watch the gulls fly in front of their eyes,

To hold back a tear of sadness-

I think of you, I think of you, ah Xiaolong! ②

I taste the lotus flesh, recalling the warmth of the past:--

The heavy curtain that is not rolled up in front of the steps,

covering the joyful love of concentricity③:

I listen again to your covenant,

"Forever yours, my body, my soul."

I taste the lotus heart, my heart is more bitter than the lotus heart;

I am bewildered in the long night,

I can't break away from my nightmare,

who knows my pain?

You have harmed me, love, how can I live this day?

But I can't blame you for being negative, I can't bear to guess that you've changed,

My heart is just a piece of soft:④

You're mine! I still

hold you tightly - ⑤

Unless the sky turns over - ⑥

But who can imagine that day? ⑦

①This poem originally appeared on September 9, 1925, within "Zhimo's Diary - Ai Mei Xiao Zha" (志摩日记-爱眉小札).

②The word "dragon" was "red" at the time of publication.

3 diary "concentric" for "soul".

④There is no ":" here in the diary.

⑤ In the diary, "--" is ";"

⑥ In the diary, "--" is ";"; "

7 In the diary, "--" is ";"; "

8 In the diary, "--" is "--". -" for ",".

7 This sentence in the diary reads "But I can't imagine that day!" At the end of the diary, it reads, "September 4 on the Shanghai-Nanjing Road".

The pipa in the middle of the night in a deep alley. It woke me up again from my sleep, the pipa in the middle of the night!

Whose sad thoughts,

Whose fingers,

Like a bleak wind, like a miserable rain, like a falling flower,

In the depth of the night,

in this sleepy hour,

Picked up the tightly strung strings, and played the Gongshangjiao Weiwei,

And in the depth of the night, in the deserted street,

The willow-topped head has the

Ah, the half moon, like a broken hope, he, he

with a blooming hat on his head,

with bars of chain on his body,

was jumping madly and laughing madly in the light of day,

was done with it, he said, blowing out your lamps,

she is waiting on the other side of the grave,

waiting for you to kiss, waiting for you to kiss. Kiss, waiting for you to kiss, waiting for you to kiss!

①Written in May 1926, first published in the Morning Post Supplement-Poetry Engraving, No. 8, May 20 of the same year, signed by Zhimo.

"Rise and build a wall" You and I must not blaspheme that one word,

Don't forget the oath we swore before God.

Not only do I want your softest tenderness,

to wrap my heart like a banana coat;

I want your love to be as strong as pure steel,

to build a wall in this flowing life;

Let the winds of autumn blow away the yellow leaves of the garden,

let termites rot the walls of a thousand years of paintings;

let a thunderbolt one day shake the universe, -

Let the thunderbolt of one day shake the universe, -

The wall of one day shake the world, -

This is a wall.

If one day a thunderbolt overturns the universe,

it will not overturn the freedom within the "wall of love" between you and me!

①Written in August 1925, this article first appeared in Modern Review, Vol. 2, No. 39, September 5 of the same year, signed by Xu Zhimo. It was later

included in a collection of poems, A Night in Filippo.

Never again see Leifeng

Never again see Leifeng, Leifeng collapsed into a big barren mound,

Topped with a lot of interlocking green onions;

Topped with a lot of interlocking green onions,

Never again see Leifeng, Leifeng collapsed into a big barren mound.

Why lament, against this light time should be divided by the destruction?

The world is full of perverts who should not be divided,

The world is full of perverts who should not be divided;

Why do you lament, against the destruction of this light time should be divided?

Why lament: this tower is suppression, this grave is burial,

Suppression is not as painful as burial!

Suppression is not as painful as burial,

Why lament: this tower is suppression, this grave is burial.

No more Thunder Peak; Thunder Peak is henceforth buried in man's memory:

Like the phantom dream that once was, and the favorite pet that once was;

Like the phantom dream that once was, and the favorite pet that once was,

No more Thunder Peak; Thunder Peak is henceforth buried in man's memory.

September, West Lake.

①Written in September 1925, first published in the Morning Post Supplement on October 5 of the same year, signed by Zhimo.

"It's not easy to stay alive these days."

Yesterday I braved the rain to visit the osmanthus at the foot of the Yenxia Ridge;

Nanfeng Peak was nowhere to be seen in the smoky haze,

and in front of a pine and thatch store's eaves

I paused and asked a nun if there were any osmanthus blossoms in Wengjia Mountain this year

and if there were any in bloom last year.

The girl first scrutinized my body,

Like a bird with deflated feathers,

I thought to myself, she must have thought it was strange,

To walk the long way in this rainy day,

To ask if the osmanthus flowers smelled good this year,

It is a good thing to ask a girl who is not a good person,

The girl said, "I'm not a good person,

This is the first time I've ever been in the world," she said.

"Guests, you are unlucky, come too late and too early;

Here is the famous Manjia弄,

往年这时候到处香香得凶,

这几天连连连的雨，加加风，

弄得这稀糟，今年的早桂就算完了".

It is true that this laurel forest can not give me a little joy;

Branch only see scorched stamens,

Looking at the miserable, alas, the undeserved disaster!

Why is this haggard everywhere?

It is not easy to live these days! It's not easy to live these days!

West Lake, September

①Written in September 1925, first published in the Morning Post Supplement on October 21 of the same year, signed by Crane.

In front of the church of Excter

It is my own figure, tonight

Reflected in the forecourt of a foreign edifice,

a cold, craggy, solemn nave,

a craggy, shady, lonely figure.

I glared at the statue in front of the temple and asked,

"Who is responsible for this bizarre life?"

The old, decrepit statue stared at me in disbelief,

as if it resented the bizarre question.

And I turned to the great cold star,

which was rising at the back of this church,

but it answered me with a mocking bewilderment,

and I with my bewilderment, in the light of the star, relative to each other!

The old tree beside me at this time,

who shaded the innocence under the monument of the war,

gave a long sigh, like

a bleak autumn rain in a bleak empty courtyard.

He had at least a hundred years' experience,

He had seen everything in the vicissitudes of the earth;

He had counted the naughtiness of life;

Raging in the spring and summer, and mother-in-law in the winter.

He has known the oldest of the forefathers of this town,

seen them baptized, babes with yellow hair;

seen their spouses, too, within this church,--

and lastly seen their names on the tombstones!

This half-tragic play he had long since tired of,

And the remnants of his own carbuncle he loved even less;

Therefore he sighed a sigh in unison with me--

Ah! I have added specks of fallen leaves to my figure!

Nineteen twenty-five, July.

1) Mourning Kirkshott, now commonly translated as Exeter, an English city.

Sea Rhyme

"Woman, single woman,

Why do you stay

on this twilight sea shore? --

Girl, go home, girl!"

"Ah no; go home I will not,

I love this evening wind blowing:"--

On the beach, in the twilight,

there is a radiating wench-- -

Wandering, wandering.

Two

"Woman, emanating woman,

why do you wander

on this cold sea?

Girl, go home, girl!"

"Ah no; hear me sing,

Sea, I sing, and thou wilt harmonize:"--

In the starlight, in the cool breeze,

Lightly swept the maiden's clear voice-. -

High chanting, low oh.

Three

"Woman, bold woman!

There was a black curtain pulled up on that day,

there was a wicked storm in this moment-

Girl, go home, girl!"

"Ah no; see me dance in the air,

Like a gull without a sea-wave:"--

On the night, on the beach,

Whirled sharply a slim figure! --

Brahma, brahma.

Four

"Hark, the sea's wrath,

Girl go home, girl!

Look, that beastly sea wave,

Girl, go home, girl!"

"Ah no; the sea-wave he does not come to swallow me,

I love the bumps of the sea!"

In the sound of the tide, in the light of the waves,

Ah, a flustered maiden in the sea-foam,

Wasting away, wasting away.

"Where is the maiden, where is the maiden?

Where is it, your loud and clear song?

Where, your slender figure?

Where, O brave wench?"

Darkness engulfs the starry night,

No more light on this seashore;

The tide of the sea engulfs the sand,

No more maiden on the beach,--

No more maiden!

①This poem was published on August 17, 1925, in the Morning Post - Literary Lent.

SuSu

SuSu is an infatuated woman,

Like a wild rose, her bounty;

Like a wild rose, her bounty

Come a storm that destroys her body.

There are her tombstones in this heathland

Drowned in the vines, her wounds and sorrows;

Drowned in the vines, her wounds and sorrows-

Ah, this heathland is incarnated in blood-stained roses!

That rose is the soul of the infatuated woman,

nourished by the dew in the early morning,

warmed by the evening breeze by dusk,

and more than anything else, the solace of that long night, to see the stars in all their splendor.

You say this shall be divided into her peace?

But Fate has called the merciless hand to climb,

Climb, climb all the splendor on the green stripes,

Pity, Su Su, she has been destroyed again for a time!

①Written on May 5, 1925, and first published in the Morning Post's Seventh Anniversary Supplement on December 1 of the same year, signed by Xu Zhimo.

3. Mighty Tiger Collection

Broad Sea Broad Sea Empty Sky I don't need,

I don't want to release a huge paper harrier

up in the sky to catch the winds from all directions;

I just need a minute

I just need a little bit of light

I just need a slit,

Like a little child crawling down

in the window of a dark house. p>at the window of a dark room

looking at an undying

seam in the western sky, a little

light, a minute

clock.

1) The time of writing is little known. Published newspaper unknown.

Farewell to Kangqiao

Gently I go,

just as I gently come;

I gently beckon,

to bid farewell to the clouds of the western sky.

The golden willows along the river

are the bride in the sunset

the colorful shadows in the waves,

swirling in my heart.

The green yellow floating heart on the soft mud,

oiled and waving at the bottom of the water;

in the soft waves of the Kang River,

I am willing to be a water plant

The pool under the shade of the trees,

is not a clear spring, it is a rainbow in the sky

crumbled between the floating algae,

deposited with rainbow-like dreams.

Dreams? Holding a Penny,

To the grass is even more green roaming,

Laden with a boat full of starlight,

In the starlight splendor to sing

But I can't sing,

Silence is the parting of the psaltery;

Summer bugs are also silent for me,

Silence is the Kangqiao tonight!

Quietly I go,

just as I came quietly;

I wave my sleeve,

without taking away a cloud.

November 6

①Written on November 6, 1928, and first published in the December 10, 1928 issue of the monthly magazine New Moon, Vol. 1, No. 10, signed by Xu Zhimo.

The oriole

Flew up the tree with a swipe of color.

"Look, an oriole!" Someone said.

Cocking its tail-tip, it made no sound,

and the gaudy difference illuminated the thick -

like springtime, a flame, like a passion,

waiting for it to sing, and we looked on in silence,

afraid to startle it. But when it spreads its wings,

it breaks through the thicket, and turns into a colorful cloud;

it flies, and is gone, and is no more-

like spring light, and flame, and passion.

①Written at an unknown date, first published on February 10, 1930 in the monthly magazine New Moon, Vol. 2, No. 12, under the genus name Xu Zhimo.

Life

Gloomy, dark, serpentine and sinuous,

Life forced into a tunnel:

Once plunged in, you can only move forward,

Hands grasping at the sticky tide of the cold wall,

Struggling within the demonic bowels,

Not seeing a ray of light in the sky above your head.

This soul, in the horror of the Pressing down,

What is the desire but to destroy?

May 29th

①written on May 29, 1928, first published in May 10, 1929, New Moon, Vol. 2 and No. 3, signed by Zhimo,

later included in the collection of poems, Fierce Tiger.

Tattered

One

Sits deep in the dead of night:

When there is a cloud of unrounded light at the window,

and the wind, holding the dust, runs through the streets

and alleys:

I will curl up

a tattered tattered tattered tone at the tip of the withered brush,

for the sake of expressing my of a tattered and torn thought.

Two

Sit deep in the dead of night:

The night-cool of the raw tip is in the window-cracks

Jealous of the residual warmth of the house,

Nor does it spare my limbs:

But with my half-dried ink I will trace

Some tattered and torn pattern,

For tattered, tattered are my thought.

Three

Sitting deep in the dead of night,

to the right and to the left are some ugly ghostly shadows:

charred fallen trees

screaming along the icy, sunken river,

comparing postures of despair,

just as I would reemerge in the tattered consciousness of a tattered heaven and a tattered earth.

This is my mind, and it's not my mind that is tattered.

Four

Sitting deep in the dead of night,

Close your eyes and look back into the clouds of the past;

Ah, she's still a cold white lotus,

Leaning against the breeze of the dawn, the lusciousness of ten thousand kinds;

But I'm not sunshine, nor am I dew,

And all I have is some tattered breathing,

Like a swarm of rats blockaded between the rafters

Chasing, pursuing darkness and nothingness!

①Written in March 1931, it was first published in Modern Student, Vol. 1, No. 6, April 1931, signed by Xu Zhimo, and was later collected

into The Collection of Tigers.

"I don't know in which direction the wind is blowing"