108秋雨叹三首其三

Sighing at the Autumn Rain III Who else can compare to this Chang’an commoner?— I lock my barred gate and keep to my circling walls. This old man doesn’t go out, artemesia and weeds grow tall; the young boy has no worries and goes running in the storm. The sound of the rain is whooshing[1], hurrying the cold to come early, the wings of the Hu wild geese are wet, flying high is hard. Since autumn came I have never seen the bright sun, mud befouls[2] this august Earth—when will it ever dry? 单词释义 [1] whoosh [wʊʃ] v. (空气) 呼呼地移动; (水) 哗哗地流; [2] befoul [bɪˈfaʊl]v. 弄污，弄脏; 诽谤，污蔑;