说起唐诗,就要说到李白和杜甫。李白的诗像水,磅礴又不失灵动;杜甫的诗像山,沉稳中透着秀气。然而幼时读诗,总是对李白更多一分景仰,他笔下那“飞流直下三千尺,疑是银河落九天”的奇情奇景,那“斗酒诗百篇”“高力士为其脱靴”的奇人奇事,无一不让我由衷地敬佩。而杜甫则没那么多神奇,伴着他的似乎只有一个清瘦老头的形象和“白头搔更短,浑欲不胜簪”的悲叹。 When talking about Tang poetry, we must talk about Li Bai and Du Fu. Li Bai’s poems are like water, but majestic and yet smart; Du Fu’s poetry is like a mountain, revealing grace in calm. However, when I was reading poetry when I was a child, I always admired Li Bai more than once. What he wrote was a “miraculous miracle that leaps down three thousand feet and is suspected to be nine days of the Milky Way.” The wonders and wonders of “Gongrishi’s take off his boots” have both made me sincerely admire. Du Fu is not so much magical, accompanied by his seemingly only a lean old man’s image and “white-headed crickets shorter, eager to win ” lament.