站在赫曦台前雪落下来,落在比山还高的地方。那鸟,放下了啾啾之音,它曾经飞过的天空,月魄一片清凉。土与青砖,兼收篆隶和唐宋烟雨,骨力遒劲,深藏天之玄机、地之隐秘。朱熹,您的阔袖与长衫,在台上,也在台下,是锦绣,也是彩霞。您的面前或脚下,是夜的沙洲,滔滔黑水和隔着纱笼的日暮闲愁:您的心中,是绿水涔涔的希望、沧桑民生和源源不绝的热流。太阳将从这里升起,您说。 Snow standing in front of Hexi station, falling higher than the mountains. That bird, put down the tweeted sound, the sky it had flown over, the moon soul cool. Soil and brick, both seal seal and the misty Tang and Song Dynasties, strong strength, deep mystery, the secret of the earth. Zhu Xi, your broad-sleeved and gown, on the stage, also under the stage, is beautiful, but also Caixia. In front of you or at your feet, is the night of the sandbar, surging black water and daydreams across the sarong leisurely worry: in your heart, is the hopeless, vicissitudes of life and an endless stream of heat. The sun will rise from here, you say.