Five Poems on Lisi
Dynasty: Tang Dynasty
Author: Yuan Zhen
Original text:
Self-love In the morning mirror with residual makeup, there are green hairpins and green silk.
In a moment, the sun hits the swallow's fat cheek, and a red rose is about to melt.
Mountain springs flow loosely around the steps, and thousands of trees and peach blossoms reflect the small building.
Reading Taoism without getting up, watching combing hair under the crystal curtain.
The red color suppresses the newness of the time, and it is auspicious to remove the tender silk dust from the flower yarn.
First of all, don’t think that the material is weak, a little unkempt is the most pleasant.
Once upon a time, there was no water in the sea, except Wushan, it was not a cloud.
Take the flower bush to look back lazily, half destined to practice Taoism and half destined to be a king.
Usually hundreds of flowers bloom together, but pear blossoms and white flowers are mostly picked.
Today there are two or three trees at the head of the river, pitifully spending their last spring with their leaves.
Translation
Love admires the remnants of makeup in the morning mirror, hairpins are stuck in the hair, and soon the rising sun shines its light on the rouged face. On her cheeks, it was as if a red flower was awakening, blooming, and about to melt away.
The mountain spring flows slowly around the street, and thousands of peach trees cover the small building. I (upstairs) leisurely read Taoist books without getting up, looking through the crystal curtain (you are In front of the dressing table) comb your hair.
Hongluo, who is a weaving craftsman, always pursues fashionable and novel patterns. The gauze embroidered with Qinjile (a parrot-like bird) pattern is dyed with a tender color like distiller's yeast. , (you said) Don’t first think that the material of the fabric is too weak. Silk with a slightly sparse warp and weft is the most comfortable.
For those who have experienced the incomparably deep and vast sea, water elsewhere can no longer attract him; except for the steaming clouds of Wushan, the clouds elsewhere are eclipsed. I walked back and forth among the flowers but was too lazy to look back, partly because I devoted myself to cultivating Taoism, and partly because I once had you. This was written by the poet Yuan Zhen in memory of his deceased wife.
At that time, hundreds of flowers were blooming, but I just picked a white pear blossom and gave it to you, a woman with skin as white as jade. Now I stand quietly by the river like those two or three trees. I only have pity. A tree of green leaves spent the last spring with me.