Li Qingzhao, the most beautiful ancient poem of quatrains through the ages

"Like a Dream" by Li Qingzhao

I often remember the sunset in Xiting. Drunk and not knowing the way back. Returning to the boat late after all the fun, I strayed into the depths of lotus flowers. Fight for crossing. Fight for crossing. A group of gulls and herons were startled.

"Like a Dream" Li Qingzhao

It rained and the wind blew violently last night. Heavy sleep will not eliminate the remaining wine. When I asked the person behind the curtain, I found that Begonia was still the same. Do you know? Do you know? It should be green, red and thin.

"A Cut of Plum Blossoms" by Li Qingzhao

The fragrance of red lotus root lingers in the jade mat in autumn. He undressed Luo Shang lightly and boarded the orchid boat alone. Who in the clouds sent me a brocade book? When Yan Zi returns, the moon is full on the west tower.

The flowers float and the water flows. One kind of lovesickness, two places of idle sorrow. There is no way to eliminate this situation. It's just a frown, but it's in my heart.

"Drunk Flower Yin" Li Qingzhao

The mist is thick and the clouds are full of sorrow. Rui Nao eliminates the gold beast. It’s the Double Ninth Festival and it’s the Double Ninth Festival. The jade pillow and gauze cupboard are cool in the middle of the night.

Dongli drinks wine after dusk. There is a subtle fragrance filling the sleeves. There is no way to lose one's soul. The west wind blows behind the curtain, and people are thinner than yellow flowers.

"Slow Voice" by Li Qingzhao

Looking and searching, deserted and miserable. It is most difficult to breathe when it is warm and then cold. Three cups and two cups of light wine are no match for him. The wind comes late and the wind blows. The wild geese are passing by, and I am sad, but it is an old acquaintance.

The ground is covered with yellow flowers. Haggard and damaged, who is worthy of being picked off now? Watching the window, how can you be alone in the dark? The sycamore trees are covered with drizzle, bit by bit. This time, there is no such thing as "sorrow".