Please give me two poems by Li Qingzhao The longer one is easy to memorize, and it is the winter vac

A cut plum. The red lotus fragrance remnants of the jade in autumn. Lightly untie Luo Shang and go on the Lanzhou alone. Who in the clouds sent the brocade book? When the word goose returns, the moon is full in the west building.

The flowers float and the water flows freely. One lovesickness, two sorrows. There is no way to eliminate this situation, so I frowned, but I was in my heart.

Slow voice. Looking for and seeking, cold and lonely, miserable and miserable. When it's warm and cold, it's the hardest to breathe.

Three glasses and two light wines, how can he be the enemy and be in a hurry late? The geese are also sad, but they are old acquaintances.

Yellowfare flowers are piled up all over the ground. Haggard and damaged, who can pick it up now? Guarding the window, how can you be born dark alone?

Sycamore is more and drizzle, to dusk, bit by bit. This time, what a one, sad words!

Purse your lips. Lonely and deep, soft intestines are sorrowful.

Cherish the spring and spring, and what time is it to urge flowers and rain.

Leaning all over the bar, it's just emotionless!

Where are the people? Even the sky is declining, and the way back is cut off.

Huanxi Sand. Mo Xu cup deep amber thick, not into the drunken first melting, sparse Zhong should be late wind.

Rui brain incense dispels the soul and dreams, dispels the cold golden bun and pine mustaches, and wakes up to the candle red.

Bodhisattva barbarian. The wind is soft, the spring is still early, and the jacket is in a good mood at first glance.

Sleep slightly cold, plum blossom sideburns remnants.

Where is your hometown?

Forget unless drunk.

When Shen Shui is lying down, it burns, and the incense and wine are not gone.

Break the Huanxi sand.

Knead **10,000 points lightly and cut into layers of jasper leaves.

The demeanor and spirit are like Hikosuke, too distinct.

Mei Rui is heavy and vulgar, and the cloves are bitter and coarse.

Smoke through the sad dreams, but ruthless.

Li Qingzhao (1084, c. 1151): A female lyricist of the Southern Song Dynasty. No. Yi'an Jushi, a native of Zhangqiu, Qizhou (now Shandong).

His father Li Gefei was a famous scholar at that time, and his husband Zhao Mingcheng was a Jinshi examiner. In his early life, he was prosperous and devoted himself to the collection and sorting of calligraphy and painting gold and stone with Ming Cheng. The Jin soldiers entered the Central Plains and lived in the south, where Mingcheng fell ill and died, and his situation was lonely.

In the lyrics, he wrote more about his leisurely life in the early stage, lamented his life experience in the later stage, and the mood was sentimental, and some also revealed his nostalgia for the Central Plains. In terms of form, he makes good use of white drawing techniques, finds his own way, and the language is clear and beautiful. The Analects emphasize harmony, advocate elegance and affection, put forward the theory of "not being a family", and oppose the method of composing poems and essays.

And can poetry, not much remains, some of the chapters feel the history of the time, the love is generous, and the style of words is different. There are "Yi'an Jushi Anthology" and "Yi'an Ci", which have been dispersed. Later generations have a compilation of "Shuyu Ci".

Today's people have "Li Qingzhao's Collection of Proofnotes". (Ci Hai, 19 89 edition).

Works: a. Cut. Plums. Original:

The red lotus fragrance remnants of jade in autumn, and Luo Shang lightly went on the orchid boat alone. Who in the clouds sent the brocade book? When the word goose returns, the moon is full in the west building.

Flowers drift and water flow freely, a kind of lovesickness and two sorrows. There is no way to eliminate this situation, so I frowned and went back to my heart.

Like a dream. Li Qingzhao.

I often remember the twilight of the Creek Pavilion, and I don't know the way back. Returning to the boat at night, he strayed into the depths of the lotus flowers, and fought for the ferry to startle a shoal of gulls and herons.

Like a dream. I often remember the twilight of the Creek Pavilion, and I don't know the way back.

Returning to the boat at night, he strayed into the depths of the lotus flower.

Fighting, fighting, startling a shoal of gulls and herons.

Like a dream. Last night, Yu Xunkai sparse the wind and Yuanchang patted suddenly, and the heavy sleep did not kill the wine.

Try the questionnaire curtain people, but the begonias are still envious of the hail.

Did you know? Did you know?

It should be green, fat, red and thin.