The Latest Complete Collection of Poems Praising Peonies

The peony is hailed by people as the “Flower Immortal” and the “Flower Minister,” and is listed as one of the “Six Great Famous Flowers.” It is also called the “God of May Flowers.” Because it has served as the flower of love since ancient times, it is now honored as the representative flower of the Qixi Festival. Poems by ancient poets praising the peony, such as “The master is gone but the flower lives on, better than the green pine that guards the cold of the year.” and others. Now let us take a look together!

"Sentiments on the Peony Flower, Sent to Upadhyaya Zhengyi"

Tang · Bai Juyi

Today before the steps, the red peonies, how many flowers are about to fade, how many are new.

When they bloom, one cannot understand comparing forms and appearances; only after they fall does one know they are like an illusory body.

From here to the gate of emptiness, how far is it? I want to take the fallen flowers and ask the Upadhyaya.

"Mournful Reflections on the Peonies Blooming Before the Hall of the Late Wang Wei, Right Deputy Minister"

Tang · Qian Qi

The peonies bloom beyond the old railing; in spring clothes, hiding tears, I come to look again.

The master is gone but the flower lives on, better than the green pine that guards the cold of the year.

"Song of the Peony"

Tang · Han Yu

In the elder's courtyard bloom fine flowers; no common tree vies with their spring splendor.

Jade-green stems and red stamens are granted by heaven's power; this grace does not belong to the Huangzhong household.

Warm, ripe, and lovely, fresh fragrance rises; as if smiling without words, they embody the gentleman.

The frost knife cuts you, the heavenly maiden toils; why lower your head and learn from peach and plum?

The spoiled, silly maidservant has no spiritual nature; competing to pull at spring garments, she comes here to join them.

Wanting to blush both cheeks with a single glance, she polishes the bronze mirror all over by the green window.

A cup of spring wine, sweet as syrup; the elder's joy here no one knows.

Who is the singer who lies drunk before the flowers? The wild youth of Chu, Han Tuizhi.

"Playfully Inscribed on the Peonies Before the Steps"

Tang · Liu Zongyuan

Common blossoms fade with the season; their beauty adorns this morning.

Leaning red, drunk on heavy dew, graceful and slender, they keep the lingering spring.

Enjoying them alone as the white day darkens, warm winds shake them again and again.

At the night window, rich fragrance gathers; lying in seclusion, I know them as close friends.

I wish to send a gift like those of the Zhen and Wei rivers, to the distant people of the southern land.

"Just After Finishing Drafts, Encountering the Peony Newly Blooming"

Tang · Bai Juyi

Having finished drafting the purple-mud edict, I rise and chant a poem on the red peony.

After the document headings were sealed and sent, it was the time the flower buds split open.

Sitting facing the hooked curtain for long, walking to view, my steps are slow.

Two or three clumps in full luxuriance, twelve leaves uneven.

Facing away from the sun, the chambers slightly close; by the steps, the blossoms turn and lean.

Hairpin-like stems put out jade-green stalks; powdered stamens brush yellow threads.

Swaying with boundless feeling, leaning low, their strength cannot hold.

Looking around and around, still not enough; to compare and describe them, words are hard to find.

In cinnabar from Goulou, flags of flame among the dwarfs.

Rouge clouds leave root and base; crimson headbands lack their tassels.

Moreover there is clear wind to pass through, and still night dew hangs.

One suspects fragrance perfumes a painted screen; like tears touched with rouge.

With intent they linger for me; wordless, whom do they resent and think of?

They must grieve that tomorrow they will fall, as if hating a year's separation.

Lotuses join their calyxes in mud; roses wrap their branches with thorns.

Weighed equally, none is superior; only the eyes and the heart know.

"Peony"

Tang · Zhang Bi

Fragrance clear, powder pale, grieving the lingering spring; butterfly wings and bee whiskers love the pollen dust.

Idly leaning in the evening wind, giving rise to wistful gazing; quietly staying through the slow day, learning to drift along.

Do not make the climbing fig into a green gate; better to be close neighbors with the rose.

If scattered and made to follow the evening rain, it should again grieve to death those who part.

"Qingping Yue: Zhang Xiushi's Peony Lyrics"

Yuan · Liu Minzhong

The tree peony flowers have fallen. In dreams the east wind is harsh.

I hear your household has red peonies. They make one forget all spring sorrow.

Across the wall a hundred paces away, fragrance comes. Several clumps open fully for me.

I would risk lying amid piled colored clouds, and when drunk, lie together on the green moss.

"Matching the Rhyme of Xu Zida's Poem on Tree Peonies and Peonies at the Residence of Prime Minister Li"

Song · Hong Yan

The mountain lily's lovely nature crowns the years; with lingering grace it brings up the rear of a hundred flowers.

See how the three springs pass like a shifting shadow; plucking one and smiling, that is life.

Silks and gauzes do not envy a beauty that topples cities; bees and butterflies can hardly peer into a prime minister's house.

Ten years in the capital with dim, sick eyes; pitiful that wind and rain scatter the morning clouds.

"Red Peony"

Tang · Yuan Zhen

The peony bursts forth red silk; the Ba hedge weaves a green gate.

Dense threads crowd the golden stamens; high flames face the furnace fire.

Cut and carved from rouge cloud pieces, spread open wrapped in red clouds.

Mist lightly veils glassy leaves; wind presses the coral blossoms.

Receiving dew, their color dims low; toward people, charming and graceful.

Flushed faces weep after drunkenness; a little girl sits finished with her makeup.

So dazzling that brocade cannot compare; so tender that peach blossoms cannot match.

The clear clouds fear they will scatter; the evening sun grieves that they will fall.

For whom were they planted in the first place? The joy of appreciating them is expected in me.

Picking them surely brings much thought; how can a secluded gift ever bear fruit?

"Five Poems of a Spring Day"

Song · Qin Guan

In one night, light thunder drops ten thousand threads; after the clearing, light floats on the tiles, green uneven.

The sentimental peony holds spring tears; the strengthless rose lies on the morning branch.