春 朱自清

Was hoping, was hoping, the east wind has come, the spring footsteps were near. All look like the appearance which just awoke, joyfully opened joyful enlarged ones vision. Shan Lang Run has gotten up, the high tide has gotten up, the sun blushed. The grass drills secretly from the earth, tender, green. In the garden, in the field, looks, one big piece of one big piece full is. Sits, is lying down, hits two to roll, kicks several foot balls, match several runs, seizes several chapters to confuse Tibet. Wind lightly,
　　grass soft soft.
　　The peach tree, the apricot tree, the pear tree, you do not let me, I not let you, all opened fills the flower to catch up with the son. Red elephant fire, powder elephant rosy cloud, white elephant snow. In the flower is having the sweet taste, closed one's eyes, on the tree as if already was full was the peach, the apricot, the pear! Under the flower becomes thousand tenths hundred honeybees humming sound to make, the size butterfly fl