Dictionary › 清晨

清晨

qīng chén

HSK 6 2-character word

What 清晨 means

1. early morning

The characters in 清晨

• 清qīng(of water etc) clear; clean; quiet; still; pure; uncorrupted
• 晨chénmorning; dawn; daybreak

Example sentences

• 她清晨离开了。
  Tā qīngchén líkāi le.
  She left early in the morning.
• 从清晨开始一直下雨。
  Cóng qīngchén kāishǐ yīzhí xiàyǔ.
  It's been raining since early morning.
• 我不喜欢在清晨开的会议。
  Wǒ bù xǐhuan zài qīngchén kāi de huìyì.
  I don't like early morning meetings.
• 清晨，鲍勃遇见了她的祖父。
  Bob met her grandfather early in the morning.
• 于是那欢快的小男孩们四处游荡，/ 如此喜悦地穿越山丘与山谷，/ 蔷薇的芬芳穿过荆棘丛 / 将随温柔的夏风飘散：/ 每个清晨，大自然含笑赐予，/ 那贫苦卑微的农夫也得一份，/ 云雀从草丛中振翅而上，/ 将悠扬的音符送向天际。
  Then the merry little boys they will ramble, / So gleesome, o’er mountain and dale, / Where the sweets of the rose through the bramble / Will be blown by the mild summer gale: / Then a share of Nature’s smiles each morning / To the poor humble peasant will be given. / While the lark from his covert he is soaring, / His musical notes to the heaven.
• 现在是 2025 年 8 月 3 日，露露岛。晚餐后，阳光下嫩绿的无花果，昨天腌制的甜醋，还有重新加热的阿尔弗雷多义面，我坐在阳台上，望着那棵针叶树。楼下静谧无声，街道空无一车，一片悠闲。我的冰镇青柠水在阳光下闪闪发光。最近，我常和那位法丹混血的 UFO 研究专家麦可聊天。我们谈论内心深处的事情：智慧型装置的迷醉，以及思维的衰退。他说，咖啡馆已经不再是咖啡馆了。人们忘记如何观察、如何驻足停留。我跟他讲起在日本的亚瑟，他会像僧侣凝视虚空一样，对着空白的墙壁发呆。最近，我让机器像诗人一样说话，它们真的做到了。它们模仿伊莉莎白时代的诗歌，以及塔加洛语民谣中那古老而忧伤的韵律。我沿着通往蒂姆霍顿咖啡店的小路采摘黑莓。我像个孩子似的喊道：「莫拉！」我的朋友莫拉，她血液里流着安地斯山脉的薄雾，她会笑的。今天，我买了黄柠檬。我本来想买青柠，但黄柠檬也可以。/ 黑莓的清晨 / 指尖残留无花果的痕迹 / 街道依然沉睡
  It's Lulu Island, 3 August 2025. After supper—green figs tender with sunlight, sweet vinegar from yesterday’s pickled jar, and reheated Alfredo—I sat on the balcony and watched the conifer. Stillness below, a street without cars, without haste. My lime water, iced, caught the light. Michael, the Franco-Danish ufologist, has been in my conversations lately. We speak of inner things: the trance of smart devices, the mind’s eye dwindling. He says cafés aren’t cafés anymore. People forget how to look, how to linger. I tell him of Arthur in Japan—how he'd stare into blank walls like a monk gazing at emptiness. Lately I ask machines to speak like poets, and they do. They mimic Elizabethan verses and the old wistful lilt of Tagalog ballads. I pick blackberries along the path to Tim Hortons. "¡Moras!" I shout like a child. My friend Mora, whose blood flows with Andes mist, would smile. Today, I bought lemons. I meant limes, but lemons are all right. / blackberry morning— / a fig's ghost on my fingers / and the street still sleeps