102九日寄岑参

On the Double Ninth: to Cen Shen Out the gate, then in the gate again, there were only raindrops, as before. Wherever I turn, I slosh[1] in the mud, thinking of you makes me grow gaunt[2]. I sit on the western porch brooding[3], confusing daylight and dusk in my meals. The Twisting River is just a step away, yet it’s hard to get to go there even once. Alas[4] indeed for the common folk— the harvest cannot be saved. How can I get to execute the Cloud-master!— long ago leaks in the heavens could be mended. The great lights, sun and moon, have been sheathed[5]; in the vast wilds birds and beasts cry out. Gentlemen force themselves to meander[6] ahead, ordinary folk have trouble to hurry along. Directly south is a lofty mountain, I fear it will be washed away with the river. On this festival the chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge will spread in profusion[7], splendid for whom? Master Cen has many recent poems, and his nature is addicted to strong ale as well. As for those golden flowers flourishing so, how can we fill the sleeves of our gowns? 单词释义 [1] slosh [slɒʃ] v. 连倒带撒; (在水或泥里) 扑哧扑哧地走; [2] gaunt [ɡɔːnt] adj. (常因疾病、饥饿或忧虑而) 瘦削憔悴的; 破败的; [3] brooding [ˈbruːdɪŋ] adj. 幽怨的; 忧思的; [4] alas [əˈlæs] int. (表示悲伤或遗憾) 哎呀，唉; [5] sheath [ʃiːθ] v. 包; 盖; [6] meander [miˈændə(r)] v. 蜿蜒而行; 漫步; 闲逛; 闲聊; [7] profusion [prəˈfjuːʒn] n. 大量; 众多;