What are the foreign modern poems that describe landscapes, and what are the modern poems that descr

Birch. Yesenin.

In front of my window, there was a birch tree, as if coated with silver frost, covered in snowflakes.

The fluffy branches, the snow-embroidered lace are chic, the bunches of flower spikes are blooming, and the white tassels are picturesque.

In the hazy silence, the jade stood this white birch, in the glittering golden light.

Sparkling snowflakes.

The birch wandered around.

The morning glow is long overdue, and it is towards the snow-capped branches.

Another layer of silver brilliance.

Gift. What a happy day.

The fog has long since cleared.

I work in the garden.

Hummingbird on top of honeysuckle flowers.

There is nothing in this world that I want to possess.

I know no one is worthy of my jealousy.

No matter what misfortune has befallen you.

I've forgotten it.

The thought that I was the same person doesn't embarrass me.

There was no pain in my body.

Straighten up. I saw the blue sea and the white sails.

1, the poem of early spring 2, love the sea heat 3, beauty.

Modern Poetry Describing Landscapes Part 1: Landscapes.

A pair of dimples. Overflowing with the most beautiful tenderness.

It's like a March breeze.

Blowing open thousands of purples and thousands of reds.

A smiley face. Contains invincible shyness.

The peach blossoms are red. Drunk shy clouds.

A pair of eyes. It's always so sparkling.

Every glance into the depths of the fallen leaves.

Autumn is always the most beautiful scenery.

Modern poems describing landscapes Part 2: In front of the window, the most beautiful scenery.

There is no green grassland, there is no warm beauty peak, what am I obsessed with you?

The view in front of the window.

In the early morning, the bird catches up the dream, and the dream wakes up slowly;

In the evening, the river contains a pool of clear water, reflecting white clouds, and the clouds walk slowly.

The chirping birdsong is the most beautiful**;

The sound of the oars is the most beautiful melody.

And, there's, there's-

O banyan tree on the other side!

It is the most beautiful couple in Xiaohe.

Look at her, plump, with her hair scattered all over her head, intoxicated by the sparkling water.

The river, the banyan tree, day and night, leaning on each other, just like that, constitute the most beautiful scenery in front of the window.

Modern Poetry Describing Landscapes Part 3: A Landscape.

No coincidence is possible. Chance encounters.

A dream of Nanke who has been stranded for thousands of years.

Gone with candle tears.

A mirage that has disappeared in ashes.

In the heart has become an indelible memory.

You don't have to use old ideas.

Be a stick in the mud. It is not overemphasized.

Perfection as it could be.

Far-fetched. It's no different from.

Advocating nature. Flowing water.

Or watch the flowers bloom.

Be indifferent to. A thousandfold effort.

The embarrassing situation has not been reversed.

Skillfully borrow the pen and ink of spring.

Re-for you. Sketch it out.

Beautiful scenery.

Momei My family washes the inkstone pond tree, and the flowers bloom with light ink marks.

Don't let people praise the color, only leave the air full of goodness.

It depicts plum blossoms.

I like to dream in the spring.

It's called Spring Dream and I'm trying hard to dream of you.

But always in vain.

I like to wake up and turn my pillow over.

I heard that if you do this, your dream will come true.

In this spring, I want to be in trouble.

I'm turning over and over again.

Sleepless Sleepless Second, open the door of spring.

I heard a bird calling.

In the city, there are a few primroses.

They did not dare to enter the city.

Only cheers and jumps outside the effect.

They are as simple as peasants in the countryside.

Let me sprout a kind of intimacy.

They're my friends.

It's like a relative I met by chance.

They are looking for unknown bugs.

Make a friendly voice to your peers.

Outside of the effect, I fell in love with the sound of birds.

In the midst of the bird's contence.

I pushed open the door of spring.

3. This spring.

My heart is in turmoil this spring.

Some tombstones come to mind for a moment.

I think about my childhood for a moment.

My heart is in turmoil this spring.

Spring's poems have been written in spring.

My dedication poems are spring blades of grass and flower crowns.

In this spring.

What else can I do?

also Chong Qi can embrace spring and time with whom.

Autumn is so fragrant.

The dew of the morning fell, and the sound of logging drifted out of the valley.

Put down the sickle that has eaten the aroma of rice, and use the back basket to hold the fat melons and fruits between the bamboo fences.

In autumn, it is perched in a farmhouse.

Cast a round net into the cold mist on the river, and put away the shadow of the blue bream-like black cypress leaves.

The reeds were laden with hoarfrost, and the small oars that returned to the moored were gently rocked.

Autumn game on a fishing boat.

The grass and fields are even more open to the sound of crickets.

The water of the stream has dried up, and the stones have become clearer.

Where is the sound of the flute on the back of the ox, the flute hole full of the incense and heat of the summer night?

Autumn dreams are in the eyes of the shepherd and the simple tomb girl.

Autumn – Haizi.

With our bones lying on the ground.

Write on the beach: Youth. Then he carried his aging father.

The days are long and the direction is interrupted.

Animalistic fear fills our poetry.

Whose voice can reach the night of autumn Loud for a long time.

Cover our bones lying on the ground-

Autumn has arrived. Without the slightest forgiveness or tenderness: autumn has come.

Late Autumn Walk When I walked through the fields after the harvest, there were no crops in sight, there was no crops, it lay peacefully, like a thatched hut with dew, and the road leading to the garden was desolate.

As I walked along the path into the garden, I heard the dead grass and broken bushes.

There were bursts of mournful birdsong, more touching than any lamentation.

There was a bare tree by the garden wall, and the solitary leaves had long since withered and yellowed, and it must have been disturbed by my thoughts, and it fell gently and made a grinding sound.

I didn't go very far in the garden, I was in the dead flowers.

Pick a bouquet of pale blue asters and rededicate it to you.

Sunlight shines through the foliage;

dyed with a bright green color;

The wind, whistling;

Glide gently over the leaf surface.

the air that flows into the woods;

It also becomes sweet and soft.

Therefore, on every tree;

They all hang the song of the birds.