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声 声 慢 Grief Beyond Belief
李清照
寻寻觅觅，冷冷清清，凄凄惨惨戚戚。乍暖还寒
时候，最难将息。
三杯两盏淡酒，怎敌他、晚来风急？雁过也，正
伤心，却是旧时相识。
满地黄花堆积。憔悴损，如今有谁堪摘？守著
窗儿，独自怎生得黑？
梧桐更兼细雨，到黄昏、点点滴滴。这次第，怎一
个，愁字了得！
Still seeking, however desolate my life is.
While the freshly-coming warmth is still blended with the lingering chill, it is the hardest time for me to rest my mind.
Two or three cups of slipslop can barely drive the iciness of the rushing gale out of my heart.
A bevy of acquainted passing wild geese, render me a sense of sentiment.
Fallen chrysanthemums pile up miserably all over the ground, while those on
the branch are withered considerably, waiting for no one to plunk.
Leaning by the window, how long will a solitary person be waiting for the night falling?
The drizzle is penetrating the plane tress, trickling by drippings in the evenfall.At this moment, I am desperately wondering how a “grief” can convey all mysoreness.
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