Spring is coming, the flowers are blooming, and if you don't go out of the house, you won't know how warm the spring sun is.
The gentle wind blows the willows, and the spring flowers bloom just right, red, white, and blue, which is dazzling.
How beautiful are the spring flowers, read these poems, you will know.
In February, the lake is clear and the spring birds are singing.
The forest flowers are swept more down, and the grass is still alive.
——Meng Haoran, "The Nine Phases of the Happy King in Spring"
In February, the lake is so clear, every house is full of spring, and the birds are singing happily. The flowers in the woods bloomed and could not be swept away; the emerald green grass on the trail was full of vitality, and after stepping on it, it would soon grow again.
The green poplar smoke is cold and light, and the red apricot branches are full of spring.
——Song Qi, "Spring Scenery of Yulou Spring"
Green willows dance softly in the morning mist, and pink apricot blossoms bloom all over the branches in a spring enchanting way.
The fragrant trees are not flowers, and the birds are empty all the way to the spring mountain.
- Li Hua, "Spring Trip Improvisation"
The trees are beautiful and no one appreciates them, and the flowers bloom and fall by themselves. The mountain road is long and the spring light is infinite, empty and silent, only birds can be heard.
The peach blossoms bloom without a master, and the cute crimson loves light red.
——Du Fu,"Seven Songs of Searching for Flowers Alone by the River"
A masterless peach blossom is in full bloom, should I love the crimson or the light red?
Scramble red mountain apricot hair, flattening new green water apples.
——Bai Juyi, "Early Spring in the South Lake"
The mountain apricots that spread over the mountains are broken red dots; the newborn green pings are neatly paved with water.
The face swirls and the flowers are swirling. The willows are heavy and smokey, and the snow is flying back and forth.
—— Ouyang Xiu, "Butterfly Loves Flowers"
Petals flutter in the breeze. Heavy green willows are shrouded in wisps of water mist, and the willows are like flying snow in the sky.
Painting bridges flowing water, rain wet falling red can not fly.
When the moon breaks at dusk, the incense in the curtain smells immediately.
——Wang Anguo, "Minus Magnolia Spring Love"
Under the beautiful little bridge, the water was gurgling, and the petals were wet with rain and stained on the ground. At dusk, the moon rises, and on the horse you can smell the afterscent of the curtain.
The east wind blew away the sorrows of the past year, liberating the lilac knot.
Alarm the small pavilion red rain, dance double golden butterfly.
——Liu Han, "Good Things Near"
The east wind has swept away last year's worries, prompting lilac buds to bloom. Golden butterflies flew by the small pavilion, alarming the silence of the flowers, and the red flowers fell on the ground like rain.
The flowers are becoming more and more attractive to the eye, and asakusa can have no horseshoes.
——Bai Juyi, "Spring Trip to Qiantang Lake"
The flowers were colorful, almost blinding, and the weeds were green, just obscuring the horses' hooves.
Eyes full of gossamer and falling silk, when the red apricots bloom, a flash of clear rain.
——Feng Yanmi, "Que Ta Zhi Qing Ming"
Everywhere you look, there are many drops, and just when the apricot blossoms are in full bloom and delicate, it is raining clearly.
The open furrows are divided into white water, and the willows are red and peachy.
——Wang Wei, "Spring Garden Is a Matter"
Dig out the clear water to divide the shrubland ridges, and a few trees of red peach bloom in the green willow bushes.
The spring water of the embankment is dipped in weeping poplars, and the water flows with the fragrance of flowers.
—— Yan Ren, "Drunken Taoyuan Spring Scene"
The spring water on the shore is dipped in gentle weeping poplars, and the flowers in the flowing water are fragrant.
Spring is here, are the flowers blooming over there?
The source of the article | classical literature and poetry, and was transferred from the Poetry Journal
WeChat editor | Tan Xi