Li Qingzhao


To The Tune Of Rinsing Silk Stream - Poem by Li Qingzhao

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


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 15, 2012



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