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青山隐隐，绿水迢迢，我站在文学的门口，窥见那门内流转的，是墨笔生香，勾勒出清风明月的韵致；梧桐细雨，西窗红烛，我站在文学的门口，窥见那门内流淌的，是令人心旌摇动的浓愁与长情。站在文学的门口，我已能听到门里的笙箫，门里的叹息，门里的牧笛，门里的美妙，站在文学的门口，我心中摇曳着的思索，已化作一江春水，流入门内的世界。 Green hills are hidden, and green water is far away. I stand at the door of literature, and I see that the flowing of the door is the fragrance of ink, and the charm of the clear and bright moon. The Wutong drizzle and the Western window are red candles. I stand at the door of literature and see that the flowing inside the door is a strong and sad feeling that is stirring. Standing at the door of literature, I can hear the Sheng Xiao, the sigh, the piccolo and the beauty in the door. Standing at the door of literature, my thoughts have turned into a river of spring water flowing into the world inside. 站在文学的门口，我用一份敬畏的心情去聆听那些高贵灵魂的歌吟，去驻足观看那隐藏在文字之后的精神之花，去收获一份灿若朝阳的理想与对于崇高的向往。 Standing at the door of literature, I listen to the singing of those noble souls with a sense of awe, stop to watch the flower of spirit hidden behind the words, and harvest an ideal as bright as the sun and a yearning for the sublime. | 
