贺双卿（1715~1735年）， 江苏金坛人，清代女诗人，清代康熙、雍正或乾隆年间人，初名卿卿，一名庄青，字秋碧，为家中第二个女儿，故名双卿。贺双卿自幼天资聪颖，灵慧超人，七岁时就开始独自一人跑到离家不远的书馆听先生讲课，十余岁就做得一手精巧的女红。长到二八岁时，容貌秀美绝伦，令人“惊为神女”。后人尊其为“清代第一女词人”。
He Shuangqing (1715-1735), born in Jintan, Jiangsu, was a female poet of the Qing Dynasty. She was born during the Kangxi, Yongzheng, or Qianlong reigns of the Qing Dynasty and was originally named Qingqing. Her first name was Zhuang Qing, and her courtesy name was Qiubi. She was the second daughter of her family, hence her name Shuangqing. He Shuangqing has been gifted with intelligence since childhood, possessing extraordinary wisdom. At the age of seven, he began to run alone to a nearby library to listen to his teacher’s lectures. By the age of ten, he had become a skilled female celebrity. At the age of 28 or 28, she was stunningly beautiful, making her a goddess. Later generations revered her as the “first female poet of the Qing Dynasty”.
The poem “Touching the Fish: Thanking the Neighbor Woman Han Xi for Offering Food” was created by the Qing Dynasty poet He Shuangqing. Through delicate descriptions of scenery and sincere emotional expression, it showcases the author’s gratitude and appreciation for the neighbor girl Han Xi’s food.
贺双卿·《摸鱼儿·谢邻女韩西馈食》
喜初晴，
晚霞西现，
寒山烟外青浅。
苔纹干处容香履，
尖印紫泥犹软。
人语乱，
忙去倚、
扉空负深深愿。
相思一线，
向新月搓圆；
穿愁贯恨，
珠泪总成串。
黄昏后，
残热犹怜细喘。
小窗风射如箭。
春红秋白无情艳，
一朵似侬难选。
重见远，
听说道，
伤心已受殷勤饯。
斜阳刺眼，
休更望天涯，
天涯只是，
几片冷云展。
Mo yu’r:
Thanking the Neighbor Girl Han Xi for Her Gift of Food
He Shuangqing
Cheered by the end of the rains,
The evening clouds in the west appear;
Beyond the haze the chilly mountains look light blue.
Where strips of moss are dry, fragrant shoes can tread.
Sharp prints stay on the purplish mud still soft.
Clamor of people’s voices:
I rush to go lean on the brushwood door vainly harboring deep deep desire.
My thoughts of you are all one strand
Spun from the new moon to the full,
Threaded with grief, strung with remorse,
pearls of tears enough for one whole string.
After dusk, still warm and damp,
Who will sustain my struggle to breathe?
Through the small window the wind shoots in like an arrow;
Springtime red, autumn white, heartless beauty;
Difficult to pick a bud like me.
Our next meeting is so far off.
I hear the heartbroken one
Has already received her lavish feast.
The sunset hurts the eyes;
Don’t look to the horizon,
The horizon only shows a few cold clouds drifting apart.
（Grace S. Fong 译）
