Tang Bai Juyi

In the evening, I bid farewell to a guest on Xunyang River. Maple leaves and mature rushes rustle in autumn.

I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups, hoping to drink-but, alas, there is no music.

Although we drank a lot of wine, we were not happy. When we were leaving each other, the river mysteriously widened in the direction of the full moon.

We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the host forgot to go home and the guests left.

We followed the melody, asked the player's name, and the voice was interrupted ... and then she reluctantly answered.

We moved the boat closer to hers, invited her to join us, and summoned more wine and lanterns to start our party again.

However, before she came to us, we called a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind her guitar from us.

... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings.

Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.

She frowned and bent her fingers, then started her music and talked about endless things in your heart.

Take your time, first the air in the rainbow skirt, then the six small ones.

Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets.

Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.

Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, and spring water flows along the beach.

By checking its cold touch, the string seems to be broken, which makes us never stop.

The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice.

A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.

Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk.

The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.

Put it on the strings thoughtfully, straighten clothes and gather customers.

Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital and lived in her parents' house in Toad Hill.

She mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name ranked first in the list of musicians.

Song often teaches excellent talents, and her beauty is the envy of all the leading dancers.

How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song.

And the blood color of the skirt was stained by wine, China.

Season after season, joy followed, and neither the autumn moon nor the spring breeze attracted her attention.

My brother joined the army and my aunt died. Night after night passed and her beauty disappeared.

There were fewer and fewer cars and horses in front of the door, and finally she married herself to a businessman.

Who, first of all, stole money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.

Go to Jiangkou to watch the boat in the air, and the moon sails around the boat in cold water.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, she dreams of her victory and is awakened from her dream by her hot tears.

Her first guitar note made me sigh. Now, after listening to her story, I feel even sadder.

We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? .

A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile.

Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year.

I live in a small town near the river, which is low and humid. Huang Lu bitter bamboo is born around the house.

What can you hear here in the morning and evening? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing.

I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining.

Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, which are hard to hear.

Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt that my hearing was illuminated by wonderful music.

Don't leave us. Come, sit down. Play it for us again. I will write a Long song about guitar. ..

... she was moved by my words, stood there for a while, and then sat down to play her strings-they sounded even sadder.

Although the tune was different from what she had played before, all the listeners covered their faces.

But which of them cried the most? , this Jiujiang officer. My blue sleeves are wet.