Do you remember, my Lord? She said, and there was a touching expression in her eyes and lips. What was my front braid like? You should remember that it hung down to my knees. I couldn’t make up my mind to have such good hair for a long time, but where can I comb it, especially in my case? Oh, well, goodbye, my Lord. I can’t talk anymore.
On this day, before the hunting, my village chief talked about Lucaria. I learned from his mouth that everyone in the village called her a living skeleton, but she never caused any trouble, nor did she complain or complain that she didn’t ask for anything. On the contrary, she was grateful for everything. Honestly, it should be said that Jia Chang, a born silly girl, came to the conclusion that it was probably because of a previous life crime, but we can’t say that she was not good. That’s not that we can’t say that she was not good. That’s her business
A few weeks later, I heard that Lucretia died, and death took her away, and it was after St. Peter’s Day. It was said that she could always hear the clock on the day of her death. Although alekseev Village was more than five leagues away from the chapel, and this day was not a Sunday, Lucretia said that the clock did not come from the chapel, but from the surface. Perhaps she dared not say that it came from the sky.
Forest grass
It was first published in Modern People’s Magazine in 1849.
So he gradually longed to turn back.
Go back to the village to the quiet garden.
Tilia trees there are tall and shady.
Lily of the valley exudes a fragrance.
Clusters of firecracker willows lined up.
Hang down from the shore to the surface of the water
Fat oak trees grow in fat fields.
It smells like marijuana and nettles.
Go back to the vast fields.
The land there is as black as velvet.
There’s rye as far as you can see
Slowly ups and downs like gentle waves
Through the white clouds
Pour heavy golden sunshine
That’s a good place.
Poems to be burned
I may be tired of reading these essays, but I can’t help but say a few words about hunting when I read goodbye.
It is a wonderful thing to go hunting with a gun and a dog. Even if you are not born to hunt, you are always so proud, so you can’t help admiring our hunting. Then listen to me.
Than you know, in spring, it’s pleasant to ride a car and hunt in front of Li. When you walk to the steps, the stars are still shining in some places. When the breeze is wet, it will float like fine waves. You can hear the low and faint night whispers. The trees are covered in the shadows, and the carpet is paved, and the small box for tea and cooking is put on the feet. Two horses are crouching and snoring, and four legs are swaying. A pair of white geese who have just woken up quietly and slowly cross the fence in the garden over there. Almost all stopped in a motionless atmosphere. You rode in a carriage. Several horses walked together. The carriage rumbled. Your carriage walked over the church, turned right from the embankment and crossed the pond. It just started to fog. When you felt a little cold, your collar covered your face. You gradually fell asleep. The horseshoe stepped into the puddle and made a loud noise. The driver whistled, but by this time your carriage had gone four or five miles.
The sky is getting red. Western jackdaw wakes up and flies back and forth in the birch forest. Sparrows are chirping and chirping around the black wheat straw pile. The road is getting brighter and brighter. The sky is getting clearer and the clouds are getting whiter and whiter. The fields are getting greener and greener. Many farmhouses are lit with loose red flames. You can hear the sleepy people in the gate. At this time, the morning glow is burning. Look, the golden bands are stretching to the Tianshan Valley. Clouds of fog and larks are singing loudly. Then the wind blows in front of Li. The red sun rises in Ran Ran, and the sunshine rushes in like a rush. Your heart jumps like a bird. It is fresh, pleasing to the eye and lovely. You can see far around. Look at that forest. It used to be a village. Further away, it is another village. There is a white church in that village. There is a small birch forest on the hillside. Then there is a moor. That’s where you want to go. Hurry up, horse and stride forward. There won’t be any more in three miles.
The sun will soon rise, and there will be no clouds in the sky. The weather will be an excellent herd of cattle. The village is coming to meet you. What is it like when you climb the hillside? A river winds and stretches for more than ten miles. Through the morning fog, you can vaguely see the blue river. There are patches of green grass on the other side of the river. The grass used to be a slow slope. The crested pheasant gurgled in the moor through the sunshine scattered in the air with moisture. The distant scenery clearly shows how comfortable it is to breathe in the chest and how vigorous it is to be immersed in the fresh breath of spring.
Ah, summer, July morning, except hunting, who can appreciate how happy Li Shi is walking in the bush? Your footprints are glittering and translucent in the dew, and the white grass is green. You dial the wet bush with your hand, and the accumulated heating will come at you at night. The air is full of wild Artemisia, fresh and bitter, and the sweet taste of buckwheat clover is in the distance. At this time, it is still cool, but it is already getting warmer. I smell too much fragrance, and my head is dizzy. The bush is endless, and it is yellow in the distance. Ripe rye is long, narrow, red and buckwheat. Look at a cart rolling. A man walks slowly. Before the sun rises, he ties his horse to the shade of the tree. You say hello to him and walk away. A sickle jingles behind you. The sun rises higher and higher, and the grass soon dries up. It is already hot. After an hour, the sky is getting dark and motionless. It is hot.
Brother, where can I get some water here? Ask the mower.
There is a well in the ravine over there.
I promised Luclia that I would realize her wish. I was almost at the door, and she called me back.
