Poetry in the garden
In the corner of his garden, there's a patch he used to keep
All to him, to allow nature to creep
There are no trimmed edges
or prim, proper hedges
He left his earth still and alone
Allowed the forces of nature to roam
He said that you don't always have to be tidy and nea t
Just watch the beauty of opportunity grow at your feet
He said just watch the earth produce its own glory
And I watched。 and held on to his story
My grandad was right
Add water and light
Behold the sight
There are poppies and flowering weeds
Buttercup s and oat coloured reeds
Daisies gingerly lift their heads
Dandelions roar from muddy beds
Purple thistles and strange grasses
Colours that alight and ignite masses
Dark ferns and heathers
Dandelion clock feathers
Birds foot trefoil, a four leafed clover
My grandad's story is not over
He may have gone, I may have been declared
but the beauty he predicted never died 2. Describe European courtyard sentences beautifully
1. It is a sunny autumn morning, and the morning sun shines quietly on the brown trees and the fields that are still green. I went forward to the lawn and looked up at the front of the building. This is a three-story building. Although it has a considerable scale, it is not grand in proportion. It is a gentleman's residence, not a noble mansion. The battlements around the top make the whole building look unique. The gray front is just set off by the nest of a white-billed crow behind, which is very prominent. Its residents are croaking in the side room, flying over the lawn and garden and landing on a large grass. A hedge separates the lawn from the garden. Rows of huge old thorn bushes grow on the grass, strong and knotty, as big as oak trees, which suddenly explains the origin of the etymological meaning of house names. Farther away is the hill. It is not as high and steep as the mountains around lowood, nor is it as an isolated barrier as they are. But these mountains are very quiet, embracing Thornfield, bringing it a kind of quiet that I didn't expect in the noisy Milcourt area. A small village is scattered on one side of a hill, and the roof is integrated with trees. The regional church is located near Thornfield, and its ancient bell tower overlooks the mound between the house and the gate.
2. I leaned on the battlements and looked down, only to see the ground spread like a map, and the fresh velvet lawn closely surrounded the gray house foundation of the building; On the field about the size of the park, ancient trees are dotted; The dark brown withered forest is clearly separated by a path, which is covered with moss and looks greener than trees with leaves; Churches, roads and silent hills at the gate lie in the autumn sun; The peaceful sky on the horizon, blue mixed with marble-like pearl white. The scenery is not surprising, but everything is pleasing to the eye. When I turned around and passed the skylight again, I could hardly see the way down the escalator. Compared with the blue sky I just looked up at, compared with the scenery of Woods, pastures and green hills under the sun with Thornfield House as the core, this attic is as dark as a grave.
3. The ground is hard, the air is quiet, and the road ditch is lonely. I walked very fast, and I didn't slow down until I was warm, enjoying and savoring all kinds of joys in this scene. It was three o'clock, and when I passed the bell tower, the church clock just struck. The charm of this moment is that the sky is getting dark, the setting sun is low and the sun is bleak. I walked on a path a mile from Thornfield. In summer, wild roses bloom here; In autumn, nuts and black strawberries abound, and even now, there are coral-colored precious rose fruits and hawthorn fruits. But the greatest pleasure in winter lies in the extreme quietness and the peace revealed by the bare trees. The breeze is blowing, and there is no sound here, because there is not a holly or an evergreen tree that can make a whirling sound. Hawthorn and hazel shrubs with no leaves are as silent as the worn white stone in the middle of the path. On both sides of the path. There are only fields far and near, but there are no cattle grazing. The yellow-brown birds that occasionally fiddle with the hedge look like scattered dead leaves that have forgotten to fall.
4. The sunny midsummer shines in England. At that time, the weather was sunny and clear for several days, even for a day and a half, it was rare to patronize our island country surrounded by waves. As if the continuous Italian weather drifted from the south, like a group of brilliant migratory birds, they landed on the cliffs of England. Hay has been collected, and the fields around Thornfield have been harvested, showing a new green. The road was white as if it had been baked, and the trees were lush and luxuriant. Hedges and Woods are densely colored, which is in sharp contrast with the golden yellow of the harvested grassland between them.
5. Into the orchard. There is nothing more hidden in the garden, more like the corner of Eden. There are lush trees and flowers here, and there are high walls separated from the yard on one side; On the other side, a beech-covered road acts as a barrier to separate it from the lawn. Below is a short hedge, which is the only boundary between it and the lonely field. A winding path leads to the fence. There is a laurel tree on the roadside, and at the end of the road is a huge horse chestnut with a row of seats under it. You can stroll here without being seen. At this moment when the dew is falling, the night is getting darker and darker, I feel as if I will linger in this shadow forever. 3. Poems about foreign countries
Hello: 1. Clouds and wet clothes make you know that the cave is near, and the sound of springs makes you feel sleepy and the stream is near. The lonely moon on the horizon rides on the stream, and the hungry apes crow in the mountains. Appreciation: It was written by Emperor Xie E (786-842) (reigned 89-823). He is obsessed with Sinology and poetry. It's very rare. 2. Toyotomi's self-chanting is like a sunrise, and it comes and goes in a hurry. Osaka is magnificent and illusory like a dream. (Toyotomi Hideyoshi is Yuki Hideyoshi. This poem was sung before he died.) The sound of the loom stopped abruptly for three nights, and the bright moon in front of the window was like autumn water. My mother wanted to ask, but she lowered her eyebrows. The soul is homesick for thousands of miles. Attached to the original poem: Mom, how can I have the heart to weave? My heart is full of love for that person. 4 Tagore's English poem dug an insurmountable ditch between you and the person who loves you with a cold heart. The farthest distance in the world is not the distance between trees, but the branches that grow on the same root but can't depend on each other in the wind. The farthest distance in the world is not that the branches can't depend on each other, but the stars that look at each other but don't meet. The trajectory between stars is that even though the trajectories meet, there is nowhere to look for in an instant. The farthest distance in the world is not that there is nowhere to look for in an instant, but that it is doomed to be unable to meet before meeting. The farthest distance in the world is the distance between fish and birds, one in the sky but one in the sea. not the distance between life and deathBut you don't know I love you when I stand in front of youThe farthest distance in the worldIs not you don't kn ow I love you when I stand in front of youBut I cannot say I love you when I love you so madlyThe farthest distance in the worldIs not I cannot say I l ove you when I love you so madlyBut I can only bury it in my heart dispite the unbearable yearningThe farthest distance in the worldIs not I can only b ury it in my heart dispite the unbearable yearningBut we cannot be together when we love each otherThe farthest distance in the worldIs not we cannot b e together when we love each otherBut we pretend caring nothing even we know love is unconquerableThe farthest distance in the worldIs not the distance between two treesBut the branches cannot depend on each other in wind even they grow from the same rootThe farthest distance in the worldIs not the br aches cannot depend on each otherBut two stars cannot meet even they watch each otherThe farthest distance in the worldIs not the track between two sta rsBut nowhere to search in a tick after two tracks joinThe farthest distance in the worldIs not nowhere to search in a tickBut doomed not to be togethe r before they meetThe farthest distance in the worldIs the distance between fish and birdOne is in the sky, Another is in the sea5Yeaths HS (Ye Zhi) When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read, and dream of the soft look, Your eyes had once,and of their shadows deep. How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face. And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur,a little sadly,how love fled, And packed upon the mountains overhead, and hid his face amid a crowd of stars. When you are old and white, your head is sleepy, and you doze by the stove, please write down a poem and remember that you once had gentle eyes and a few shadows in the corner of your eyes. How many people loved you when you were young and beautiful? True and false love only lured your beauty. Only one person loves the sanctity of your soul in his heart and the painful lines on your aging face.