Li Qingzhao

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Li Qingzhao Poems

Wind ceased, the dust is scented with fallen flowers.
Though day is getting late, I am too weary
to attend my hair.

I always remember the sunset
over the pavalion by the river.
So tipsy, we could not find our way home.

In the sky, the River of Stars is moving.
In the world of mortals,my curtains are hanging down.
It is getting chilly on my tear-soaked pillow and mat.
I get up to losen my silk robe, wondering how advanced is the night.

Year by year, in the snow,
I have often gathered plum flowers,
intoxicated with their beauty.
foundling them impudently

Lonely in my secluded chamber,
A thousand sorrows fill every inch
of my sensitive being.

Thousands of light flakes of crushed gold for its blossoms,
And the trimmed jade for its layers of leaves,
This flower has the air of Scholar Yen Fu.
How brilliant!

It was far into the night when, intoxicated,
I took off my ornaments;
The plum flower withered in my hair.
Recovered from tipsiness, the lingering smell of wine.

I ascent high on the sotried pavilion,
Below,mountains scatter in disorder;
The unclutivated plain extends
far in the light mist.

Light mists and heavy clouds,
melancholy the long dreay day,
In the golden cencer
the burning incense is dying away.

The wind ceases; fallen flowers pile high.
Outside my screen, petals collect in heaps of red
and snow-white.
This reminds me that after the blooming of the cherry-apple tree.

Soft breeses, mild sunshine,sring is still young.
The sudden change to light apparel
brightened my spirit.
But upon awakening from slumber, I felt the cilly air;

Over the lake the breeses come, waves expand, hight and far.
Autumn approaches its end, blossoms are scanty and fragrance rare.
Water lustrous, mountains bright -hued show their affection and friendliness to us mortals.

Let not the deep cup be filled
with rich, amber-colored wine;
My mind was eased of sorrow
even before I become intoxicated.

The Best Poem Of Li Qingzhao

To The Tune Of Wu Ling Spring Late Spring

Wind ceased, the dust is scented with fallen flowers.
Though day is getting late, I am too weary
to attend my hair.
Things remain as ever, yet his is here no more,
and all is finished.
Fain wound I speak, but tar flow first.
They say that at the Twin Brooks spring is still fiar.
I, too, wish to row a boat there.
But I am afraid that the little skiff
on the Twin Brooks
Could not bear the heavy load of my grief.

Li Qingzhao Comments

Nice poetry 01 March 2018

Very fine woman poet of China. She wrote beautiful poems, but after her husband died, she wrote poems expressing her sorrow and grief. We enjoyed these poems but wish you had some from an earlier time in her life. Thanks you!

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