English poetry recitation is urgently needed, !!! in three days 10

dreams dreams.

Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die

life is a broken-winged bird.

that can never fly.Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go

Life is a barren field, frozen only with snow, everything no longer grows.

"Zai Bei Kangqiao" Xu Zhimo Du

Gently I go, just as softly I come.

zhi；dao

I beckoned softly, and I devoted myself to the clouds of the western sky.

The golden willow on the riverside is the bride in the sunset;

The beautiful shadow in the waves ripples in my heart.

The green wattles on the soft mud are swaggering at the bottom of the water;

In the soft waves of the River Cam, I am willing to be a water weed!

The pool under the shade of the elm is not a clear spring, but a rainbow crumpled in the sky among the floating algae, precipitating a rainbow-like dream.

Looking for a dream? Hold a penny, wander towards the greener grass, load a boatload of starlight, and sing in the starlight.

But I can't play songs, quietly it's a parting sheng flute;

Xia Worm is also silent for me, and silence is Kangqiao tonight.

Facing the sea, spring flowers are blooming.

Prose OK? It seems that there is an article called "My Future Is Not a Dream" and it is very good! Passionate, upward, youthful, vigorous, sunny, hopeful, future!

And, in recent years, someone has composed a song! What is that? What Bin sings!

It seems that it was quite popular a few years ago!

Bing Xin sent the Indian philosopher Rabindranath Tagore.

Tagore! Beautiful and majestic Tagore! When I crossed one of the boundaries of "infinite life", birth, you had already crossed that line and put infinite light on humanity.

But I didn't know you were in the world

On a bleak autumn night last year, when the moon was sparse, a book inadvertently introduced you to me, and I finished reading your biography and poems—I didn't think about it in my heart, but I felt a deep sense of clarity and ......Poignant.

Your extreme belief - your belief that "there is a great harmony between the universe and the spirit of the individual": your storage of "natural beauty" and the poetry of "natural beauty"; all infiltrated into my mind, and my original "unspeakable" thoughts, wisps of synthetic strings, played an ethereal and magical toneless and silent **.

Tagore! Thank you for healing my gifted pathos with a happy and beautiful poetry; Thank you for your excellent philosophy and soothing the loneliness of my soul.

At this time, I put my pen late into the night and wrote this text of sighing and thanking, but I just poured out my thoughts, how can I ask you to know!

But since we are united in Brahman, I have also written, you see.

The poet is sick—

The poet's emotions.

It's more suitable for writing poetry.

But the poet could not write.

The shadow of the chrysanthemum is on the ground.

The rattan chair has the sun on its back.

The book fell to the ground

Don't want to pick it up.

Just let him be swept by the breeze.

The window was open. The curtain fluttered.

People are bored. Only the books are old.

The flowers are new. Reflected in the mirror.

It's emaciated Pon'er.

In hand.

It's a heavy pen.

Condensed poetry.

But with freshness.

The haggard poet.

But it was pleasant.

It's a person who is sick-

The poet's emotions.

It's more suitable for poetry.

But the poet could not write.

The poet was sick - but.

Strange the sky outside the window, how can it be so gloomy!

The sky is like a poet, only so gloomy and depressed.

General: Brewing poetry has not been completed, brewing snow has not been completed.

The dead branches outside the wall, the smoke on the house, and the faint sound of the city, how much time has been sent leisurely?

The poet is sick—

But blame him for the sky outside the window.

How is it so gloomy!

Xingxiangzi Autumn Death.

The wind is upside down, and the leaves fall before the steps.

The rhyme is invincible, and the willow twists the mourning strings.

Thick clouds and dark rain, frost spreading.

The voice of resentment is bitter, the sound of the flood is far away, and the sound of autumn is remnant.

The cold flowers cry dew, and the withered grass is sad.

How can you bear pity for the bleak scene?

Waiting for leisure is a matter of time.

It's hard to get rid of it, it's hard to end, it's hard to hate.

Xu Zhimo's "Farewell to Kangqiao".

Farewell Kangqiao (Xu Zhimo).

Gently I go, just as softly I come.

I beckoned softly, and made a cloud of the western sky.

The golden willow on the bank of the river is the bride in the sunset;

The beautiful shadow in the waves ripples in my heart.

The green wattles on the soft mud are swaggering at the bottom of the water;

In the soft waves of the River Cam, I am willing to be a water weed!

The pool under the shade of the elm is not a clear spring, but a rainbow in the sky;

Crumpled among the floating algae, precipitating a rainbow-like dream.

Looking for a dream? Hold a penny and wander towards the greener grass;

Loaded with a boatload of starlight, singing in the starlight.

But I can't play songs, quietly it's a parting sheng flute;

Xia Worm is also silent for me, and silence is Kangqiao tonight.

Quietly I went, as quietly I came;

I waved my sleeves and didn't take a cloud with me.