文人总有一种魔力,能在明灭的烛光下让古朴的竹简散发出缕缕幽香。还记得曾在一个夜晚,我翻开了唐诗宋词。苏轼的大江东去,弃疾的倚栏凭望,易安的藕花惊鹭,子野的月明花影,静静地伴我进入梦境。梦中一声断喝,金戈铁马便以排山倒海之势而来,热血如注,怒吼如雷,朔风猎猎。而后传来一声叹息,谁将情丝寄西凉,血染墨香哭乱冢。离人眼中的血,染红了悲戚的诗篇。王谢堂前的燕子,何等活泼自在,纤细的燕尾扫过,便将诗人的情怀送 There is always a kind of magic in the literati, which can make the quaint Bamboo Bamboo exudes a faint scent of fragrance under the candlelight of the Ming Dynasty. Remember one night, I opened the Tang poetry and lyrics. Su Shi’s east of the river to go, Abandoned the leaning bar with hope, easy to Ann’s lotus flower stunner, son of moonlight flowers, quietly with me into the dream. A break in the dream of a dream, the gold iron railings will be the overwhelming trend, the blood of the note, roar thunder, moon hunt. Then came a sigh, who will send Silence Xileng, bloody ink Xiangqu crunches. Blood from the eyes of people, dyed sad compassion of the Psalms. Wang Xie before the swallow, how lively, thin dove sweep, then the poet’s feelings to send