Ask for Chinese and foreign classic poems, some plus points

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

Xu Zhimo. I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I am in a dream, in the light waves of dreams.

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I was in a dream, and her warmth kept me intoxicated.

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I am in a dream, and sweetness is the brilliance of a dream.

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I was in a dream, and her negative heart was my sadness.

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I am in a dream, and my heart is broken in the sorrow of a dream.

I don't know which way the wind is blowing.

I am in a dream, and dimness is the light in a dream.

I'd rather be the rapids of Pedolfi.

I would like to be rapids, small rivers in the mountains, on rough roads

There is a ...... on the rocks

As long as my love.

It's a small fish.

In my waves.

Swim around happily.

I would like to be a barren forest, on both sides of the river, against gusts of wind, bravely fighting ......As long as my love.

It's a little bird, in my dense.

Holes are made between the branches and chirps.

I would like to be ruins, on the steep rocks, this silent destruction.

It doesn't discourage me....

As long as my love.

It is the green ivy, which climbs intimately along my desolate forehead.

I would like it to be a thatched hut, at the bottom of a deep valley, on top of a thatched hut.

Hit by wind and rain......

As long as my love.

It was a lovely flame in my furnace, flashing happily and slowly.

I would like to be clouds, gray broken flags, lazily floating around in the desert air, as long as my lover, is a coral-like sunset, beside my pale face, showing bright splendor.

In fact, there are quite a lot of words, especially abroad, and I found two songs.

Storm (Pushkin) "If Life Deceives You".

Do you see the girl standing on the rock?

Dressed in white clothes, standing tall above the waves, when the sea is noisy in the smoke of the storm, and the shore is playing, it is like the golden light of thunder and lightning.

All the moment illuminated her with a crimson light, and the wind was striking and blowing.

The time when she was fluttering in the light veil?

The sea in the smoke of the storm, the blue sky lost in the flash, are all beautiful;

But believe me: the girl standing on the rock, prettier than the waves, the sky, and the storm.

Farewell Kangqiao (Xu Zhimo) Gently I go, just as I come gently; 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, the oily underwater swagger; 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, silence is Kangqiao tonight! Quietly I went, as quietly I came; I waved my sleeves and didn't take a cloud with me.

Rain Lane Dai Wangshu.

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long, lonely rainy alley, I hope to meet a girl who is like a lilac and has a grievance. She has the color of lilacs, the fragrance of lilacs, the sorrow of lilacs, grieving in the rain, complaining and wandering; She wandered in this lonely rainy alley, holding an oil-paper umbrella Like me, Like me, silently 彳亍 (chì chù) cold, bleak, and melancholy She silently approached Approached, and cast a breath-like gaze She floated by Like a dream, Like a dream, Confused and confused. Like a lilac floating in a dream, this girl floated beside me; She silently walked away, far away, to the fence of decadence (pǐ), and walked through this rainy alley.

In the lamentation of the rain, her color was gone, her fragrance was gone, even her breath-like eyes, lilac-like melancholy. Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long, lonely rainy alley, I hope to float past a girl who is like a lilac and grief.

I use a broken palm

You are the April day in the world" Lin Huiyin "I love this land" Ai Qing "Homesickness" in the afterglow.

Captain! My Captain!

Walter Whitman.

Ah, Captain! My Captain! The terrible voyage is complete;

The ship has endured all the risks and dangers of the wind, and the goal of tolerance has been achieved.

The harbor is in sight, the bells are ringing, and the people are rejoicing.

Thousands of pairs of eyes watched the ship --- steady, brave, and determined.

But it hurts! Distressed! Distressed!

Look at the drops of bright red blood!

On the deck lay my captain, and he went down, cold, and goodbye.

Ah, Captain! My Captain! Arise and listen to the bells;

Get up, the trumpet will sound for you, and the flag will be hoisted high for you;

Facing you, how many bouquets and wreaths --- waiting for you, and thousands of people flock to the shore;

They shout to you, huddle around, raise their earnest faces;

Ah, Captain! Dear Father!

My arm is on your head!

It was a dream: on deck.

You go down, cold, goodbye.

My captain was silent, his lips pale and unmoved;

My father didn't feel my arms, I didn't have a pulse, I didn't have a last word;

The ship anchored and stopped, and arrived safely; The voyage is over;

After a difficult return, the victory goal was obtained.

Ah, the bells on the shore are ringing in unison, ah, the people are jubilant!

But I was on deck, beside the captain, with a sad heart and heavy steps:

For he fell, cold, and farewell.

I used to love you.

Pushkin: I used to love you.

Love may be in my heart.

Not completely dead yet.

Hopefully it won't bother you again.

I don't want to make you sad and sad anymore.

I used to be silent.

I have loved you without hope.

I endured shyness.

and endured the torment of jealousy.

I used to be so sincere.

I have loved you so tenderly.

May God bless you.

The other person will love you as much as I do.

Chopin's Revolutionary Etude Ah.

Look for the air of the south in the UK.

Alviti. If the air says this to itself one day:

I'm tired, my name wears me out ......

I don't want to sign with my name anymore.

The curls of the caryophyllus and roses, the delicate ripples of the stream, the graceful waves of the sea.

and the dimples that laughed on the cheeks of the white sails......

I was disoriented from the squish.

The sleeping mat rose up and left my bedroom.

I flowed among the still vines and pierced the closed cupola windows of the towers;

Completely emaciated, I turned into the alley again, and I turned around and around the corners, and I was scratched by the corners of the doors, scratched by the axes of the windows, and the deep porches led to the green courtyard, where the splashes of water made me soar.

My heart's desire—sweet and hopeless......

Find, find, I find a name for myself, what method do I use to line a new word?

Isn't there a gust of wind in one breath?

One breath can be for that word-

Can you give my name a wing?

I was frustrated and searched for a symbol.

Find a man to replace me, and he should be very much like me, here—cut.

Fresh memories can be keenly felt.

The warm whispers of the delicate cradle can keep the same for a long time.

Trembling that same breath—

It's like the first morning of my birth.

The first breath when I heard the light say:

Fly! You are air. ”

If the air says this to itself one day:

Mother - Rabindranath Tagore.

I don't remember my mother, only in the middle of my game.

Sometimes it seems like there's a tune that swirls around my toy, the tunes she hums as she shakes my cradle.

I don't remember my mother, but it was a morning in early autumn.

The fragrance of acacia flowers floated in the air, and the fragrance of morning prayer in the temple blew to me like a mother's scent.

I don't remember my mother, but when I looked out of my bedroom window at the blue sky, I felt the gaze of my mother on my face.

Spread all over the sky.

You have to have a range, poetry, there are a lot of classics, ancient, modern, lyrical, or speech, anyway, there is a range to give a general idea.

The bright moonlight in front of the bed, suspected of frost on the ground, raised his head to look at the bright moon, and bowed his head to think of his hometown.