每每读到一首真情真意的诗,不论长短,不论平仄,不论流派,我都会有一种灵魂出窍的错觉。我总是会幻想自己是易安(作者注:李清照,号易安居士),是青莲(作者注:李白,号青莲居士),是济慈,是雪莱,是被写在字字句句里无与伦比的美丽,是被倾诉在抑扬顿挫间真真切切的情愫。我仿佛置身于望不到一缕炊烟的蛮荒之 Often read a true meaning of the poem, no matter how long, regardless of level, regardless of genre, I will have a delusion of the soul of the illusion. I always imagine myself to be Yi An (Author Note: Li Qingzhao, number Yi Anju), is Ching Lin (author note: Li Bai, Qinglian lay), is Keats, Shelley, is written in words Unparalleled beauty of the sentence, is to be talked about in the simple truth between love and thumping. I feel like being in the wilderness of a ray of smoke