A Butterfly Loves Flowers

Li, Qing-zhao (1081 A.D.-1154 A.D.?)

    My sickness left me little joy during this long night. I dreamt about Chang-an City in vain and recognized its main street. The light of flowers and their shadows cast by the moon should move me to report the beauty of this spring.

    Although the cups and dishes are scattered about in a mess, the wine is delicious and plums are sour, just as I wish. Flowers, do not laugh at me when I, being intoxicated, put you in my hair! It is a pity that the Spring is getting old like man.