我第一次推开古诗词的大门,是从“小时不识月,呼做白玉盘”到“夜来风雨声,花落知多少”开始,走进了这座美丽而神秘的大观园。诗是多么有灵性的文字,一撇一捺间蕴含了古国千年的魅力,一韵一调中似隐藏了精灵的轻吟。《诗经》名头之高,妇孺皆知,它如彼岸花,即使无法摘取,也一直存活于心。其实它只是民歌,没有想象中那么疏远不可亲近。我似乎听到了雎鸠儿的啼鸣,那在河之洲的窈窕女子坐于木兰轻舟上,亭亭玉立,素手纤纤,采摘流于左右的荇菜。长身玉立的男子,思恋谁家的伊人,只有辗转 The first time I opened the door of the ancient poetry, is from the “hour did not know the moon, call the white jade plate” to “night rain and wind, how many flowers”, into this beautiful and mysterious Grand View Garden. Poetry is so spiritual words, a write a Na room contains the charm of the ancient millennium, a charm like a tune hidden in the wizard’s Qingyin. “The Book of Songs,” the first name of high, women and children are well known, it as a bana, even if can not be removed, but also has been living in the heart. In fact, it is just a folk song, not so distant and inaccessible. I seem to hear the cry of Chiqua children, sitting in the Mulan cockleshells on the river of the continent, slim, vegetarian slender, picking flow around the Ichiban. Long-eared man, who love Iraqi people, only removed