To The Tune Of Rinsing Silk Stream Poem by Li Qingzhao
To The Tune Of Rinsing Silk Stream
Let not the deep cup be filled
with rich, amber-colored wine;
My mind was eased of sorrow
even before I become intoxicated.
Distant bells have already echoed
in the evening breeze.
My dream is broken
as the scent of incense vanishes.
Too small, the hairpin of the gold
of warding-of-cold
loosens its hold of my tresses.
I awake to find myself blankly facing
the read flickering glow
of the candle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:02:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
whats the moral lesson of this poem?