Ah! The wind reads the answer

Sometimes you sing and laugh, sometimes you lament and weep. We can hear your voice. But thy face is not seen: of thee we perceive but cannot see. You are like an ocean of love, drowning our souls and soothing our peaceful hearts.
You rise upon mountains, descend upon valleys, and spread out upon fields. When you rise, it shows your fortitude and perseverance. When you descend, it shows your humility and courtesy. When you stretch, it shows your lightness. Agility. You are like a noble and benevolent king. You are amiable to the weak, but you are awe-inspiring to the arrogant.
Qiu Da lived in the mountains. You cried to the heavens. The trees weep with you; in winter you rage, and your whole being is angry with you; in spring you are weak and sickly, but the fields wake for you; in summer you put on a mask of silence, but we think that the sun has shot you dead with its arrow and wrapped your corpse in its heat. But in the autumn's opening, whether you weep, or whether you bare the trees, and watch them laugh shyly in the winter days, whether you glare. Still dancing around the snowy graves of the night, in the days of spring. Are you weak, or are you like a passionate girl? Trying to rouse the long-parted lover, the youth of the seasons, from his slumber with mournful sighs, are you a corpse in the summer days, or are you temporarily asleep among the fruit-trees, the grapevines, and the barn-houses?
You brought the smell of disease from the poor streets and alleys, and the fragrance of flowers from the mountains and plains. This was like those broad-minded people who quietly endured the pain of life and quietly treated the joy of life.
You whispered strange things into the rose's ear. But the flower knew what they meant, so it trembled and smiled. This is what God does to human souls.
You're taking your time here. In the third place, it was running, galloping, and never stopping. This was just like how a person's thoughts died when they were still, and only when they were active did they live.
You write lines of verse on the lake, and then you erase them. What difference is there with those hesitant poets, when you come from the south? Hot as love, cold as death when you come from the north, gentle as the touch of the soul when you come from the east, cold and fierce as hatred when you come from the west. Are you ever as fickle as the years? Or messengers from all sides, what do they command you? Tell us how you were angry in the desert. It was so cruel to trample on a caravan. Then you buried them under the desert. Is this still the same you? -- The valley, where the flowers tremble in love with thee. Swaying, the grass smells your breath. He danced like a drunken fool.
When you lose your temper on the ocean, the calm sea will be enraged for no reason, causing the waves to surge and chase after you relentlessly. It will open its huge mouth and swallow countless ships and lives at once. Is this the same you? You were so mischievous and affectionate, gently stroking the braids of the girls running around the house.
Where are you hurrying to with our souls, our sighs, our breath? Where are you taking our songs and laughter? What will you do with the sparks that fly in our hearts? Will you carry them all away behind the world and the sunglow, or will you drag them as prey into those dreadful valleys, and throw them away in caves and make them disappear?
In the dead of the night, hearts reveal their secrets to you; in the light of the morning, eyes make you tremble. The feeling of the heart, the discovery of the eyes, have you ever forgotten that under your wings, you carried the cries of the poor and the pity of the orphans? Widow's lament, in the folds of your garment lies the thoughts of travelers, the grief of abandoned children, and the cry of the heart of a firework girl. Did you keep everything that these little people gave you? Or did you do what the earth did? Whatever we gave it, it would turn it into a part of itself. Do you hear these cries and cries, or are you like those despots and nobles? People stretch out their hands to beg for mercy, but they don't care to look at them. People shout at them, but they pretend not to hear?
O wind, the lifeblood of listeners, do you hear these voices?
In the article, you refer to the use of rhetoric to write his beauty.
(2) The whole article contrasted the gentle beauty of the wind with the tyranny and ferocity of the wind, and the author expressed his feelings by writing the ferocity first and then the gentleness.

Answer 1

Your question isn't clear enough, so I can't give you an accurate answer. If you can provide more context or specific questions, I will be more than happy to help you.