poems about cuckoo's nostalgia 1. what are the poems about nostalgia
Cuckoo: Miscellaneous Poems Egret: Extraordinary Poem Partridge: Partridge
Nameless Dufu Zheng Gu
Near the cold and rainy food grass lavishly, the two oriole song cui-wei willow, the warm play of the smoke and wreaths of the brocade wing Qi, the product of the flow should be close to the mountain chicken.
The winds of the wheat seedlings and the willows are reflected in the embankment. A line of egrets on the blue sky, rain dusk green grass lake, flowers fall Huangling temple cry.
The first thing you need to do is to get back to your home. The window contains a thousand snowy autumns on the West Ridge, and the traveler's sleeves are wet when he hears about it, and the beautiful people sing about the low green eyebrow.
The cuckoo will not cry in your ear. The first time I saw this was when I was in the middle of the night, and the second time I was in the middle of the night. The river is wide, and the bamboo is deep, and the sun goes west.
The lotus leaves are cut in one color, and the hibiscus face is open on both sides. The first time I heard the song, I realized that someone had come to my house.
2. Poems about nostalgia
Silent Night Thoughts Tang Li Bai The light of the moon in front of the bed is suspected to be frost on the ground.
Raise your head to look at the moon, lower your head to think of your hometown. The rainy days of Tang Bai Juyi are heavy today, and the rivers and mountains are deep here.
The sound of the beach is even more rapid in autumn, and the atmosphere of the gorge is cloudy at dawn. The first time I saw it, it was a very long time ago, and it was a very long time ago.
What can I do to comfort my loneliness? The first time I saw this is when I was in the middle of the night, and the second time I was in the middle of the night. The first time I went to the airport, I had to go to the airport, and I had to go to the airport, and I had to go to the airport, and I had to go to the airport.
The book is broken beyond the sky, and the spring is in the rain. The first time I saw this, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I'm not sure how many people are going to be able to make it out of the countryside, but I'm sure I'll be able to make it out of the countryside. The first is to think of the riverbank in autumn, and the second is to think of the riverbank in autumn, and the third is to think of the riverbank in autumn.
The willow color is raised by the whip, and the cicadas are lost with the hand. The first time I saw this is when I was a little girl, and the second time I saw it was when I was a little girl.
The poor and the needy have no land to return to.
The first thing you need to do is to send your friends on a trip to the south of the river, and then you have to go to the end of the world.
The evening of the long shore, the lake is wide and the sails are in the fall. The first time I saw him, I bought a drink and went to the fisherman's house, and shared the light with the fishing boat.
The dashing geese in the dashing river should be remembered as a solitary traveler. The first time I saw this is when I was in the middle of the night, when I was in the middle of the night, when I was in the middle of the night, when I was in the middle of the night.
The flowers in front of the house are not swept away, and the willows outside the door are not climbed. The first time I saw this is when I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, I was in the middle of the night.
The moon on the night of autumn shines on the mountains.
The first time I saw you, I was so happy to see you, and I was so happy to see you.
The trees are cold, the birds are sparse, the mountains are very few monks. The first time I saw it, I was so happy to see it.
Suddenly returned to his homeland, I want to live in Xiling.
The first time I visited the old city of Yunmeng, I was looking at Tang Rongyu in the fall. The ruins of the old country are still there.
Once a man has changed, a thousand years of water flows in vain. The first time I saw it, it was a long time ago, and it was a long time ago that I saw it.
The clouds are still there, and I look at my hometown from afar.
This is the first time I've ever seen a hotel in the United States, and I've never been able to sleep in it.
The first thing you need to do is to think about your hometown. The first thing you need to do is to send flowers and wine to your hometown, and then you can put the flower on your right hand and the cup on your left hand.
I would like to ask you about the flowers and the wine, how can the old man be different? The first thing you need to do is to get the best of what you have to offer, and you can do it in a way that will make you feel better.
Looking away, Tang Yuan Zhen, full of sadness and winter scenery, a mountain of red trees by the temple more. Zhongxuan unlimited homesickness tears, Zhangshui east flow jasper wave.
And Sanxiang poem Tang Gao Qu North and South thousands of mountains and ten thousand mountains, Xuan car who do not think of home. The first time I saw this is when 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 first time I saw the movie was when I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley, and I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley. The first time I saw it, I was in the middle of the river, and the second time I was in the middle of the river, I was in the middle of the river.
The moonlight on the ground of Yu Guangzhong is full of moonlight, and no one has cleaned it up, so we will fold a broader lotus leaf, wrap a piece of moonlight back, and go back to clip it in the Tang poem. Flat, like pressed Acacia ...... moonlight are with the fragrance of lotus leaves.
"Nostalgia" Yu Guangzhong when I was a child, nostalgia is a small postage stamp, I'm at the end of the mother at the end of the grown up nostalgia is a narrow ticket, I'm at the end of the bride at the end of the later ah, nostalgia is a side of a short grave, I'm at the outside of the mother in the inside of the now nostalgia is a bay of shallow strait, I'm at the end of the continent in the end of nostalgia, Ximurong hometown of a faraway song flute, always resounding in the evening with the moon. The face of the hometown is a vague disappointment, as if the fog waved goodbye.
After the parting, nostalgia is a tree without a wheel, never old. The rice season heavy dreams hanging in the vast fields fragrant light wind blew open the farmhouse that is as intoxicated as the heart of the dream, not lingering in the festive atmosphere of the colorful golden wave swinging in the arms of the water town people such as sucking a thousand cups of wine in this ---- fertile land thousands of miles fragrant when the lookout platform climbed the lookout platform the feet of the mountains stepped on the sky a touch of cloud wind sends the sound of the countryside around the side of the mountain road is not Lintao and curved and narrow, but only the hometown of a road directly through the I saw the mountains and water of my hometown and saw the willow and acacia of my hometown and the pine in front of my house, and it was still like my grandma's thousands of miles away from home, and it's been years since I've been homesick for my hometown, and I've always come to look at my hometown.
3. write nostalgia ancient and modern poems
1 nostalgia nostalgia ice in the warm embrace of the sun melting grass green end of the world when the wind blew the poets woke up the wine of the spring sunset accompanied by the flowers slowly fall March ah March I dragged a long back wandering in the streets of a foreign country faces are very indifferent indifference to look at the hasty passers-by when the infinite rain diagonally weave a fine and dense network of the rain, the sun and the sky. When the infinite rain weaves a thin and dense net and covers the empty mind of a wanderer, melancholy, melancholy, melancholy, I lean on the broken door of an inn and gaze towards my hometown, my dream home is a smoky village, where the kitten purrs and huddles by the side of my mother's needle and thread, and when the cuckoo bird calls out, "Why don't you come back? Why don't you come back?" "Bukoo, Bukoo, Bukoo," we're pawns crossing the river and there's no going back, no turning back, and the nostalgia of a remote country, which is paid for by the sweaty soil, is persisted in. Faith in my y buried forehead, my hometown's raccoon waves, the red and green dresses of the village maidens, all of which are familiar and unfamiliar to me, I haven't gazed at them for a long time, and the mirage of the distant past has once again brought me back to my youthful days, and the old acacia at the entrance of the village is still the same, and my grandma used to be standing under it waiting for me to come back, waiting for me to come back in the rain and the wind, and now I'm looking for the eyes that seem to always be tinkling me with instructions, that old figure, until tears of memories overflow into my heart, and the green mountains fly, and the lovely Bugu sweeps towards the clouds, and the lovely Bugu flies towards the clouds. The green hills, with their lovely cuckoos, sweeping towards the clouds and into the dome of the sky, and the warm grass at my feet, green and green, swaying and dancing in the wind, this is the hometown that I have longed for day and night, and which is at the tip of my dreaming heart, and how can I ever forget it? The deep nostalgia that has settled in my heart3 The piccolo that beckons the soul Yu Guangzhong The soul comes back to the place where it belongs, Mother, the East can't stay for long, the tropical sea that gives birth to typhoons, the North Pacific Ocean in July has low air pressure.
Souls return, Mother, the South cannot stay long, The one-way street of the sun train, The equatorial moxibustion in July, The hearts of pedestrians' feet. Soul to soul, O mother, the north cannot stay long, The white kingdom of the reindeer, There is no night of rest in July, only day.
The soul returns to its mother, but not to a foreign land. The little urn is dreaming by the floor-to-ceiling window, with the little plants you planted.
Return, Mother, and guard your town after the fire.
The first thing I want to do is to go back to my hometown and bury you in a small grave on a cold, wet road.
They will be buried in a small town in the south of the Yangtze River, where the hair of the willow hangs down. The hair of the willow hangs down to your grave, and when spring comes, you will have a girl's dream, a dream of your mother.
And on the way to Ching Ming, O mother, my footprints will be deep, The willow's long hair dripping with rain, O mother, dripping with my memories, The soul will return, O mother, to guard this empty city in the four directions. When I die, when I die, bury me, between the Yangtze River and the Yellow River, with my head on the pillow, and my white hair over the black soil.
In China, the most beautiful and motherly country, I will sleep openly, sleep the whole continent, listen to both sides, requiem from the Yangtze River, the Yellow River, the two pipes of eternal music, heaving, towards the east. This is the most indulgent and broadest bed, let a heart satisfied to sleep, satisfied to think, once upon a time, a young man in China once, in the frozen Michigan looking west, want to look through the night to see the dawn of China, with seventeen years not eaten in China's eyes Taotie map, from the West Lake to the Taihu Lake to the partridge Chongqing, instead of returning to his hometown.
5 hours Hou Nostalgia is a small stamp I'm here at the end of the mother at that end Growing up Nostalgia is a narrow boat ticket I'm here at the end of the bride at that end Later, ah Nostalgia is a side of a short grave I'm on the outside of the mother in the inside of the Now, Nostalgia is a shallow bay strait I'm here at the end of the continent at the end of the Yu Guangzhong Give me a dipper of Yangtze River water ah Changjiang Water wine like the Yangtze River water Drunkenness taste of nostalgia Give me a dipper of Changjiang Water ah Changjiang Water wine-like Yangtze River water drunkenness is the taste of nostalgia Give me a dipper of Yangtze River water, Yangtze River water. Give me a Begonia Red, Begonia Red. Blood-like Begonia Red. The pain of boiling blood is the pain of nostalgia. Give me a Begonia Red, Begonia Red. Give me a Snow White, Snow White. Letter-like Snow White. The waiting of a letter from home is the waiting of nostalgia. Give me a Snow White, Snow White. Give me a Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei. Fragrance 7 That Cricket Liu Shahe The Taiwanese poet Mr. Y said: "When you hear a cricket chirping at night overseas, you will think it is the one you heard in the Sichuan countryside. It is that cricket whose steel wings beat against the golden wind and jumped across the strait, which landed quietly over Taipei and sang in your yard night after night. It is that cricket that sang in "The Winds of July", in "The Winds of the Tang Dynasty - Cricket", in "Nineteen Ancient Poetry Songs", next to the weaving loom of Hua Mulan, and in Jiang Kui's lyrics, which was heard by the laborers and by the women of thoughts. It is that cricket that sang by the stagecoach paths deep in the mountains, on the beacons of the Great Wall. It's the cricket that sang on the post road, on the beacon of the Great Wall, on the patio of the inn, on the weeds of the battlefield, for the lonely guest, for the wounded soldier, it's the cricket that sings in your memory, in my memory, of the surprises of childhood, of the loneliness of middle age, of the bamboo cages, of the lanterns, of the mooncakes, of the osmanthus blossoms, of the pomegranate fruit full of pearls, of the yellow leaves of the hometown, of the wild geese, of the haystacks, of my mother's call for us to go back to add more clothes, of the many, many things that the years have secretly left behind. Many, many years have gone by, and it's the cricket that sings across the strait, that sings in the alleys of Taipei, that sings in the villages of Szechuan, that sings everywhere the Chinese go, that sings more monotonously than the most monotonous music, that sings more harmoniously than the most harmonious sound, that condenses into water, that is the dewdrops, that is the light, that is the glowing fire, that becomes a bird, that is the partridge, and cries in the hearts of those who know the countryside. It's that cricket, that sings outside your window, and that sings outside my window, and you listen, and you miss, and I sing. You're listening, you're missing, I'm listening, I'm chanting, you should guess what I'm chanting, I'll guess what you're thinking, the Chinese have a Chinese mind, the Chinese have a Chinese ear.
4. The Legend of the Cuckoo
Zi Gui, also known as the cuckoo, is a nickname for the cuckoo bird. Ancient legend has it that its predecessor was the king of Shu, named Du Yu, No. Wang Di, and then lost his country and died, and his soul was transformed into a cuckoo and cried sadly. This is probably a story imagined by previous generations because they heard the miserable sound of the cuckoo. The present piece of writing begins with this story, envisioning the cuckoo leaving the prosperous country and wandering around year after year. This tragic experience paves the way for the following sadness.
Because of the mournful cries and the red beak, there is a rumor that the cuckoo weeps blood. The poet borrowed this rumor to play imagination, the red flowers on the field as the cuckoo's mouth blood stained, enhanced the image of the infectious force. However, what can be the result of such lamentation? The old country spring, is still a piece of grass and trees, green and lush, containing smoke and fog, not in the least factor gauge of sadness and reduce its vitality. Here, the spring grass as a counterpoint to their happy and relaxed demeanor as a performance of indifference to Zi Gui cries, the imagination of the peculiar more than the previous weeping flowers into blood. In this line, "other mountains" (referring to foreign lands) and "old court", a hot and a cold, reflecting the contrast, highlighting the cuckoo bird lonely wandering, the tragic fate of the door.
The second half of the book continues to depict the cries of the cuckoo in various ways. In the rain and wind, it hides in the green bushes and hisses bitterly; in the moonlight and shadows, it meets the sky of the dawning of the day and cries long and mournfully. This is how it keeps on crying and pouring out its inner pain, from sunny day to rainy day, from night to dawn. This mournful and persistent call, in the river at sunset into the ears of the boat pedestrians, how not to touch the people's travel thoughts and all sorts of sadness and memories of the past, called the soul of the people sad, sadness and tears?
From the "Xiangjiang River" at the end of the poem, this poem was written in the area of Hunan province. The author Wu Rong is Yuezhou Shanyin (present-day Shaoxing, Zhejiang Province), Tang Zhaozong served in the dynasty, once implicated in the dismissal of the government, living in Jingnan, this piece was written at this time, reflecting his career disillusionment and away from the hometown of the painful feelings. Poetry through the aria to support the idea, throughout the buckle on the cuckoo bird cries bleak this feature, repeated ink rendering, but not stuck in monotonous, rigid hook shape copying, but the object into a diverse scenarios and associations, write side by side, the virtual pen and real pen clever combination of the use of the artistic effect to achieve "like a thing and get its God". This is undoubtedly a useful revelation for writing aria poems.
Zi Gui is the alias of the cuckoo bird
"It is better to go back, it is better to go back," the mournful voice screamed to the people's heart. You shattered the spring, countless petals falling down, countless people look at you sadly, you planted all the love for spring.
Thousands of years, you are fond of the homeland. I looked through the dictionary, I visited the Shu, I searched for your traces. The weekend, it was a few thousand years ago? Seven countries claimed the title of king, you only claimed the title of emperor in Shu, people call you Wang Di, you call yourself Du Yu. During your reign, you worked diligently. Wasn't Shu later the land of heaven? When you learned that your Prime Minister Wushan water management merit, you since the virtue of thin, they commissioned the country to die, you use your life to outline a beautiful myth.
And then later? Zuo Taichong said, Bibi out of carambola blood, bird born Duyu soul. People in Shu know that since you left, every year in the spring, there is a bird that comes from far away and urges people to sow seeds with an extremely sad voice. People say, that is your soul. You are still in love with your hometown, your subjects. But why is your cry so sad? Gu Fong said: "Du Yu wrongful death accumulated sometimes, year after year cry blood moving people sad". This, is it true?
So, Shu will be more of a bird, called Zigui, called cuckoo, also called Bugu.
The Middle Kingdom has always been a lot of sad things, in fact, before you, there is E Huang, female Ying died in the water. The two imperial concubines have become the god of Xiangshui. In Qu Zi's writing, they are so divine. Is the beautiful Xiangfei still so sad today? Hunan still has Xiangfei bamboo. Wu Weiye of the Qing Dynasty said: "Xiangshan wood fell into the cave wave, Duyu deep call Naihe. The world, happiness has a kind of, sad but there are thousands.
"Farewell with the bright moon, you should listen to the rules of the child", you travel tired, sleepy, bored, back to the strike, it is better to return. What a noble thought! What a great warrior! For the love of thousands and thousands of people, they have devoted themselves to everything, with blood and life to defend the children of the motherland, they are not our most honorable relatives! Moonlight like running water, quietly lagging in this leaf and flowers, thin green mist floating up in the lotus pond, leaves and flowers as if washed in buttermilk, and like a dream with a light veil.
My table bucket put a worn out flowery schoolbag, although worn out, but it is one of my boat, a piece of treasure. The schoolbag is a boat, carrying me to swim in the sea of learning, rushing rapids, over the dangerous shoals, drifting and sailing, to reach the other side of the victory; the schoolbag is a treasure, it is melted with the mother's love and love, to give me the strength to go forward.
It finally took shape: a broadband to a not too small cloth pocket made, the look is really like a boat, which is also embroidered with the words "study hard, every day up". An ordinary brush "height" of about 6 inches, this structure is designed to fit the regular script, running script, cursive and other different styles of writing needs.
The pen barrel is made of Coca-Cola cans, the surface of the hundreds of small conch shells glued together to form a peculiar figure. The library has a collection of over 90,000 books, ranging from students' workbooks to Shakespeare's plays, and from small series of light science books to Einstein's magnum opus.
How many nights, the little table lamp shining bright, accompanied me to review my homework, it knows my worries and joys .
The surrounding mountains are like a colorful flower cloth. The mountain waves and peaks, layers and layers.
The mountains are black and pale without edges, and the cliffs are cut and axed like the sky and the earth. The undulating loess hills are like the waves of a great flood.
The Dragon Head, like a tomb towering in the night. The mountains on both sides of the gorge rise and fall straight up and down, so high that it makes people dizzy.
The deep valley is appallingly quiet and cold. The gorges were filled with snow, as high as the backs of the mountains, and became a great square of flat, snow-covered ground.
The morning sun is shining, and the mountain is like a shy girl, hidden, the sunset, the remaining light across the light. Vocabulary: 立夏 入夏 夏至 初夏 仲夏 盛夏 夏日 夏天 夏天 夏天暑装 夏夜 酷热 炎热 hot 燒热 闷热 初夏时节 已近立夏 时值初夏 初夏之际 春去夏来 春末夏初 时当下令 時值盛夏 正值盛夏 夏天 夏天 过去 正值炎夏 正值盛暑 盛夏时节 盛夏之季 盛夏日 盛夏日 盛夏季节 酷暑季节 酷暑盛夏 盛暑炎暑 muggy summer muggy summer 溽暑盛夏 炎炎盛夏 五黄六月 時值 June is the season of three ambushes Hot in three ambushes Summer in full bloom Three ambushes Summer day Three ambushes in full bloom Big summer heat Cool to go The end of the ambushes is over It is already the end of summer Rainy season Rainy season Summer harvest season Spring planting Summer harvest Summer planting Summer harvesting Summer harvesting Busy summer sun Cool summer in June Summer heat Summer heat Summer heat Summer heat The sun is scorching Sun is poisonous Sun is scorching Hot hot Fierce sun in the middle of the sky Red sun is scorching Hot summer heat Summer heat Summer heat Summer is in the middle of the day Summer mountains are as blue Summer trees are verdant Summer water is in the middle of summer Summer months Cicadas chirping sentence July, the sky of translucent blue. Hanging fireball-like sun, clouds seem to be burned by the sun, also disappeared without a trace.
The spring is gone with the falling flowers, and the summer is covered with green leaves and jumping in the warm wind. Early summer sunshine from the dense layers of branches and leaves down, the ground printed with the size of the copper coin sparkling spot.
The wind blew with a slight warmth, sending the cuckoo's call at times as it told us, "Spring has returned." The grass, reeds and red, white and purple wildflowers are steamed by a fiery sun high in the sky, and the air is full of sweet intoxication.
In early summer, wildflowers of all colors bloom, red, purple, pink, yellow, like brilliant spots embroidered on a large green carpet; swarms of bees are busy in the flowers, sucking the stamens, diligently flying around. In the summer, it is so hot that even the dragonflies only dare to fly against the shade of the trees, as if they are afraid that the sun will hurt their wings.
There is not a cloud in the air, there is not a little wind, overhead a round of hot sun, all the trees are listless, lazy standing there. July summer, tile blue tile blue sky without a trace of clouds, the hot sun scorching the earth, the water in the river scalding, the soil in the ground smoke.
The sun was blazing, and on both sides of the road, the ripe grains were bending over in the heat, heads down. Grasshoppers, as numerous as blades of grass, chirped faintly and noisily in the wheat and rye fields again, in the wheat and rye fields, and in the reeds along the banks.
The sun is like a big, big ball of fire, the light is scorching, the highway is scorching hot by the hot sun, the foot step down a string of white smoke. The weather is sweltering to death, and there is no wind, and the air seems to be frozen.
The whole city is like a burnt-out brick kiln, making people breathless. Dogs lay on the ground and spit out their bright red tongues, and the nostrils of the mules and horses were flared wide.
The hot umbrella of fire was high in the air, and the fish in the river did not dare to show the water, and the birds did not dare to fly out of the mountains and forests, and the dogs in the village just stretched out their tongues and panted endlessly. The day, the sky is so hot that it is crazy.
As soon as the sun came out, the ground was already on fire, some like clouds, like fog, like fog, not fog, gray gas, low floating in the air, so that people feel suffocated. It was a long drought in the summer, the hot sun baked the old loach in the field are turning white, the village side of the creek, the creek water a few inches lower, those exposed to the water surface of the stone, steeply bigger.
The birds do not know where to hide to go; grass and trees are downcast, as if dying; only that the robin, can not stop in the branches of the broken high call; really broken gongs and drums in the hot sun shouting to support! The willow tree in the street looked like it was sick, its leaves hung with dust and rolled on its branches, and its branches did not move. The company's main goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers, and the company is also committed to providing the best possible service to its customers," he said.
Good words: stars, sky stars, cold stars, lone stars, morning stars, stars.
6. Seek all the poems about the azalea
The azalea (Solanum, or rhododendron, is also known as the red of the mountains).
1. Li Bai "Xuancheng see azalea flowers" "Shu has heard of Zigui bird, Xuancheng still see azalea flowers. A call back to the intestines a break, three spring and March to remember Samba."
2. "The azalea flower when prematurely colorful, hate the Imperial City people do not know. Ding Ning Mo left the spring wind blowing, stay with the beautiful people than color." (Tang Shi Shouwu)
3. Bai Juyi "idle folding two branches held in hand, a closer look does not seem to be on earth, the flower of this thing is Xishi, hibiscus peony are ugly woman." The poet praised the azalea, comparing it to Xishi in flowers.
4. Li Shangyin Jinse "Jinse has fifty strings, one string and one column thinking of Chinese years. The first time I saw it, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. The moon of the ocean is bright with tears, and the sun of the blue field is warm with smoke. This love can wait to be memorialized, but at that time it was already lost."
5. 〈Seven....... Remembering Dabie Mountain Song Yingshanhong Two Songs〉一 "North and south of the border all over the place, the most memory of Dabie Mountain in spring. The family to sweep the tomb of the Red Army, when the wild red azalea." The cradle of the revolution is not afraid of poverty, and the small frontier county is full of honor. The mountains are sprinkled with the blood of heroes, and then the spring of ten thousand ravines are red!"
6. Era: Song
Author: Yuan Jiang
Works: Yingshanhong slow
Content: "Before the rainy wind, accounted for Shujing, the famous flowers alone. It is the first of its kind in the world, and the spring work has been accomplished. The curtain protects the sun and the golden mud is wrinkled. Reflecting the Xia gills move sandalwood marks slip. Long remember the sky, Yaochi Langyuan had. Thousands of turns around, the red jade appendage, worry only fear, the morning clouds is difficult to long. I have to fold my embroidered capsule and smell the bees' whiskers. The beautiful woman again to worship lift the face, convergence of red scarf, holding a golden cup of wine. I would like to dedicate a thousand years of my life to you. I wish you a long life, and the fragrance of heaven fills your sleeves."
The cuckoo bird (commonly known as Bugu, also known as Zi Gui, Du Yu, Zi Cuckoo.)
1. Li Bai "Xuancheng see azalea flowers" "Shu has heard of Zigui bird, Xuancheng still see azalea flowers. A call back to the intestines a break, three spring and March to remember the Samba." This poem expresses that when seeing azaleas in full bloom in Anhui Province, one can't help but think of the cries of the azalea birds in his hometown, thus y evoking the poet's homesickness. According to legend, the cuckoo bird was transformed into the ancient king of Shu. Its chirping sound is mournful. The azalea flower is dyed bright red because of the azalea bird crying blood.
2. "The azalea arrives in late spring, wailing and calling between them. I commonly worship again, heavy is the soul of the ancient emperor." (Du Fu's poem "Cuckoo")
3. Jinse Li Shangyin "Jinse has fifty strings for no reason, one string and one pillar thinking of Chinese years. The dream of the Zhuang Sheng is lost in butterflies, and the heart of the Emperor of Hope is in a cuckoo's nest. The moon of the ocean is bright and the pearl has tears, the sun of the blue field is warm and the jade has smoke. This love can wait to become a memory, but at that time has been confused."
4. magpie bridge fairy - night smell azalea Lu You "Thatched roof people quiet, Peng window lights dark. The night of the spring even the river wind and rain. The forest warbler nesting swallows are always silent, but the moonlit night, often crowing Du Yu. The moonlight night often cries the cuckoo's name, which brings tears of love and wakes up the lonely dreams. The old mountain is still unbearable to listen to, not to mention half a lifetime, drifting in custody!"
5, Tesha Xing Qin Guan "The fog lost the building, the moon is lost in the Jindu. The Peach Garden is not to be found. Can be a lonely pavilion closed spring cold, cuckoo sound in the slanting sun twilight. I sent plum blossoms by post, and fish passed the ruler to me. This is the most important thing I have ever heard of. The Chenjiang River is fortunate enough to surround Chenshan Mountain, for whom it flows down to Xiaoxiang."
6. Remembering Wangsun Li Chongyuan
"I remember Wangsun in the luxuriant grass, and I have a broken soul in the tall building outside the willow. The sound of Du Yu can't bear to be heard, wanting dusk, the rain beating the pear blossoms y closing the door."
It's quite complete.
7. Three Modern Poems on Nostalgia
Shulan Thirty years ago, you looked at me from the top of the willow tree, and I was young, and you were round, and people were round. Thirty years later, I look at you from the top of the coconut tree, and you are a cup of nostalgia, and you are full of nostalgia, and you are full of nostalgia, and you are full of nostalgia, and you are full of nostalgia.
In China, the most beautiful and the most motherly country, I will sleep openly, sleep the whole continent, listen to both sides, requiem from the Yangtze River, the Yellow River, the two pipes of eternal music, heaving, toward the east. This is the most indulgent and broadest bed, let a heart satisfied to sleep, satisfied to think, once upon a time, a young man in China once, in the frozen Michigan, looking west, want to look through the night to see the dawn of China, with seventeen years of insatiable China's eyes Taotie map, from the West Lake to the Taihu Lake, to Chongqing, more partridge, instead of returning to his hometown.
Homegrown sadness ice and snow melted in the embrace of the warm sun, the grass is lush and green at the end of the world, when the blustery east wind blew awake the poet wounded spring wine, the setting sun slowly fell with the flying flowers in March, ah, March, I dragged a long back wandering in the streets of a foreign land, foreign faces are very indifferent indifference to gaze at each of the hasty passers-by, when the infinite silk rain diagonally weaved into a thin and dense net, covered with the wandering son of the empty mood of the heart, upset about ah, upset about me, I am not sure what to do, I'm not sure if I'm not sure, I'm not sure about my life. Leaning on the broken doorway of an inn, gazing towards my hometown, the home in my dreams is a smoky village, where the cat snores and huddles next to my mother's needlework, while the cuckoo bird calls in my ear, "Why don't you come back, why don't you come back?