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A VIEW OF TAISHAN
What shall I say of the Great Peak? --
The ancient dukedoms are everywhere green,
Inspired and stirred by the breath of creation,
With the Twin Forces balancing day and night.
...I bare my breast toward opening clouds,
I strain my sight after birds flying home.
When shall I reach the top and hold
All mountains in a single glance?
����������� ��������̣� ��Ϧ����Ϧ�� ���˵���⡣ ��׳�ܼ�ʱ�� �����Ѳԡ� �þɰ�Ϊ���� �������г��� ��֪��ʮ�أ� ���Ͼ����á� �����δ�飬 ��Ů�����У� ��Ȼ����ִ�� �������η��� �ʴ���δ�ѣ� �����ƽ��� ҹ������£� �´�������� ���ƻ����ѣ� һ����ʮ���� ʮ������� ���ӹ��ⳤ�� ���ո�ɽ���� ������ãã�� TO MY RETIRED FRIEND WEI It is almost as hard for friends to meet As for the morning and evening stars. Tonight then is a rare event, Joining, in the candlelight, Two men who were young not long ago But now are turning grey at the temples. ...To find that half our friends are dead Shocks us, burns our hearts with grief. We little guessed it would be twenty years Before I could visit you again. When I went away, you were still unmarried; But now these boys and girls in a row Are very kind to their father\'s old friend. They ask me where I have been on my journey; And then, when we have talked awhile, They bring and show me wines and dishes, Spring chives cut in the night-rain And brown rice cooked freshly a special way. ...My host proclaims it a festival, He urges me to drink ten cups -- But what ten cups could make me as drunk As I always am with your love in my heart? ...Tomorrow the mountains will separate us; After tomorrow-who can say?
�����м��ˣ� �ľ��ڿչȣ� ���������ӣ� ��������ľ�� ������ɥ�ң� �ֵ���ɱ¾�� �ٸߺ����ۣ� �����չ��⡣ �����˥Ъ�� ������ת�� �����ᱡ���� ���������� �ϻ���֪ʱ�� ԧ�첻���ޣ� ��������Ц�� ���ž��˿ޣ� ��ɽȪˮ�壬 ��ɽȪˮ�ǡ� �������أ� ǣ�ܲ�é�ݡ� ժ�����巢�� �ɰض�ӯ�䡣 �캮���䱡�� ��ĺ������ ALONE IN HER BEAUTY Who is lovelier than she? Yet she lives alone in an empty valley. She tells me she came from a good family Which is humbled now into the dust. ...When trouble arose in the Kuan district, Her brothers and close kin were killed. What use were their high offices, Not even shielding their own lives? -- The world has but scorn for adversity; Hope goes out, like the light of a candle. Her husband, with a vagrant heart, Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade; And when morning-glories furl at night And mandarin-ducks lie side by side, All he can see is the smile of the new love, While the old love weeps unheard. The brook was pure in its mountain source, But away from the mountain its waters darken. ...Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls For straw to cover the roof again, She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair, And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers, And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold, She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo.
ĺͶʯ���� ����ҹ�� ������ǽ�� �ϸ����ſ� ����һ��ŭ ����һ�ο� ����ǰ�´� ���������� һ�и����� ������ս�� ������͵�� ���߳����� ���и����� Ω�������� ����ĸδȥ ��������ȹ ��������˥ �����ҹ�� ��Ӧ������ �̵ñ����� ҹ�������� ���������� ������ǰ; �������̱� The Pressgang At Stone Moat Village I seek for shelter as night falls; A pressgang comes and presses for more. My poor old host climbs o'er the walls; My hostess old answers the door. How angry is the sergeant's shout! How pitiful the woman's plight! I hear what she tries to speak out: "All my three sons have gone to fight, And one of them sent word to me; The other two in battle slain, He'll keep alive if he can be; The dead can't come to life again. Within the house no man is left Except my grandson at the breast; His mother now of all bereft Cann't come out, in tatters drest. Though I'm a woman weak and old, I beg to follow on your heels That I may serve at the stronghold And cook for you the morning meals." With night her voices fade away; I seem to hear still sob and sigh. At dawn I go upon my way And only bid my host good-bye.
������������ ���������� �������ݵأ� �������Ϣ�� ���������Σ� ���ҳ����䣻 ������������ ������������ �ַ�ƽ���꣬ ·Զ���ɲ⡣ ���������࣬ �귵�����ڣ� ������������ ��������ɫ�� ˮ������� ��ʹ�����á� SEEING Li Bai IN A DREAM I There are sobs when death is the cause of parting; But life has its partings again and again. ...From the poisonous damps of the southern river You had sent me not one sign from your exile -- Till you came to me last night in a dream, Because I am always thinking of you. I wondered if it were really you, Venturing so long a journey. You came to me through the green of a forest, You disappeared by a shadowy fortress.... Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare, How could you lift your wings and use them? ...I woke, and the low moon\'s glimmer on a rafter Seemed to be your face, still floating in the air. ...There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing; If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters.
���������У� ���Ӿò����� ��ҹƵ�ξ��� �������⡣ ��鳣�ִ٣� ��������ס� ������粨�� ��鮿�ʧ�� ����ɦ���ף� ����ƽ��־�� �ڸ��������� ˹�˶��㲡� �������ֻ֣� ���������ۣ� ǧ���������� ��į�����¡� SEEING Li Bai IN A DREAM II This cloud, that has drifted all day through the sky, May, like a wanderer, never come back.... Three nights now I have dreamed of you -- As tender, intimate and real as though I were awake. And then, abruptly rising to go, You told me the perils of adventure By river and lake-the storms, the wrecks, The fears that are borne on a little boat; And, here in my doorway, you rubbed your white head As if there were something puzzling you. ...Our capital teems with officious people, While you are alone and helpless and poor. Who says that the heavenly net never fails? It has brought you ill fortune, old as you are. ...A thousand years\' fame, ten thousand years\' fame- What good, when you are dead and gone.
����κ��֮��� �ڽ�Ϊ��Ϊ���ţ� Ӣ�۸�������ӣ� �IJɷ������д档 ѧ���ѧ�����ˣ� ���������Ҿ��� ���֪�Ͻ����� ���������縡�ơ� ��Ԫ֮�г������� �ж�������Ѭ� ���̹�������ɫ�� �����±ʿ����档 ����ͷ�Ͻ��ڣ� �ͽ����������� ��������ë������ Ӣ���ˬ�̺�ս�� �ȵ����������� ������ɽò��ͬ�� ����ǣ����ܯ�£� �������������硣 گν���������أ� �⽳�ҵ���Ӫ�У� ˹������������� һϴ��ŷ����ա� ��ȴ������ϣ� ���ͥǰ������ ����Ц�ߴͽ� ����̫�ͽ���꣬ ���Ӻ��������ң� ���ܻ��������ࣻ ��Ω���ⲻ���ǣ� ��ʹ��������ɥ�� �������Ƹ����� ż���ʿ��д�棻 ����Ư���ɸ�ʣ� ��òѰ����·�ˡ� Ϳ������۰ף� ����δ���繫ƶ�� ��������ʢ���£� ���տ����������� ����; A SONG OF A PAINTING TO GENERAL CAO O General, descended from Wei\'s Emperor Wu, You are nobler now than when a noble.... Conquerors and their velour perish, But masters of beauty live forever. ...With your brush-work learned from Lady Wei And second only to Wang Xizhi\'s, Faithful to your art, you know no age, Letting wealth and fame drift by like clouds. ...In the years of Kaiyuan you were much with the Emperor, Accompanied him often to the Court of the South Wind. When the spirit left great statesmen, on walls of the Hall of Fame The point of your brush preserved their living faces. You crowned all the premiers with coronets of office; You fitted all commanders with arrows at their girdles; You made the founders of this dynasty, with every hair alive, Seem to be just back from the fierceness of a battle. ...The late Emperor had a horse, known as Jade Flower, Whom artists had copied in various poses. They led him one day to the red marble stairs With his eyes toward the palace in the deepening air. Then, General, commanded to proceed with your work, You centred all your being on a piece of silk. And later, when your dragon-horse, born of the sky, Had banished earthly horses for ten thousand generations, There was one Jade Flower standing on the dais And another by the steps, and they marvelled at each other.... The Emperor rewarded you with smiles and with gifts, While officers and men of the stud hung about and stared. ...Han Gan, your follower, has likewise grown proficient At representing horses in all their attitudes; But picturing the flesh, he fails to draw the bone- So that even the finest are deprived of their spirit. You, beyond the mere skill, used your art divinely- And expressed, not only horses, but the life of a good man.... Yet here you are, wandering in a world of disorder And sketching from time to time some petty passerby People note your case with the whites of their eyes. There\'s nobody purer, there\'s nobody poorer. ...Read in the records, from earliest times, How hard it is to be a great artist.
���Ҳ���˼������ �����ܷɲ��ڴ��� ���˾�����ˮ�� ��㶴ͥ���˻ġ� ���ڤڤ���°ף� ���Ҷ������˪�� ��Ⱥ�ۼ������� �����������ˡ� ܽ����������䣬 Ӱ������ҡ���档 �ǹ�֮���������� ����ϡ�ٲ����ԡ� �������߳����ӣ� ���Ǻ����������� �������϶������� ��δ������ˡ� ���ҳɰ�����ң� ɫ���ȸ��ͷ��㡣 ����������ϧ�� �ϼ�����Ӧ�ٲ��� ���˺�Ϊ����ˮ�� �ɵ���֮�����á� A LETTER TO CENSOR HAN I am sad. My thoughts are in Youzhou. I would hurry there-but I am sick in bed. ...Beauty would be facing me across the autumn waters. Oh, to wash my feet in Lake Dongting and see at its eight corners Wildgeese flying high, sun and moon both white, Green maples changing to red in the frosty sky, Angels bound for the Capital of Heaven, near the North Star, Riding, some of them phrenixes, and others unicorns, With banners of hibiscus and with melodies of mist, Their shadows dancing upside-down in the southern rivers, Till the Queen of the Stars, drowsy with her nectar, Would forget the winged men on either side of her! ...From the Wizard of the Red Pine this word has come for me: That after his earlier follower he has now a new disciple Who, formerly at the capital as Emperor Liu\'s adviser, In spite of great successes, never could be happy. ...What are a country\'s rise and fall? Can flesh-pots be as fragrant as mountain fruit?.... I grieve that he is lost far away in the south. May the star of long life accord him its blessing! ...O purity, to seize you from beyond the autumn waters And to place you as an offering in the Court of Imperial Jade.
������ǰ���ϰأ� ������ͭ����ʯ�� ˫Ƥ������ʮΧ�� ��ɫ�����ǧ�ߡ� ��������ʱ�ʻᣬ ��ľ��Ϊ�˰�ϧ�� ����������Ͽ���� �³���ͨѩɽ�ס� ����·�ƽ�ͤ���� �������ͬ�s���� ����֦�ɽ�ԭ�ţ� ��뻿ա� �����̾���õأ� ڤڤ�¸߶��ҷ硣 ���������������� ��ֱԪ���컯���� ��������Ҫ������ ��ţ������ɽ�ء� ��¶�������Ѿ��� δ�Ǽ���˭���ͣ� �������������ϣ� ��Ҷ�վ���� ־ʿ����ĪԹൣ� �����Ĵ���Ϊ�á� ����˪ ����ԭ A SONG OF AN OLD CYPRESS Beside the Temple of the Great Premier stands an ancient cypress With a trunk of green bronze and a root of stone. The girth of its white bark would be the reach of forty men And its tip of kingfish-blue is two thousand feet in heaven. Dating from the days of a great ruler\'s great statesman, Their very tree is loved now and honoured by the people. Clouds come to it from far away, from the Wu cliffs, And the cold moon glistens on its peak of snow. ...East of the Silk Pavilion yesterday I found The ancient ruler and wise statesman both worshipped in one temple, Whose tree, with curious branches, ages the whole landscape In spite of the fresh colours of the windows and the doors. And so firm is the deep root, so established underground, That its lone lofty boughs can dare the weight of winds, Its only protection the Heavenly Power, Its only endurance the art of its Creator. Though oxen sway ten thousand heads, they cannot move a mountain. ...When beams are required to restore a great house, Though a tree writes no memorial, yet people understand That not unless they fell it can use be made of it.... Its bitter heart may be tenanted now by black and white ants, But its odorous leaves were once the nest of phoenixes and pheasants. ...Let wise and hopeful men harbour no complaint. The greater the timber, the tougher it is to use.
��������ʮ��ʮ�����縮���Ԫ��լ�������ʮ�� ���轣����׳��εږ�� ������ʦ��Ի�U������ ����Ҳ����Ԫ���أ�����ͯ�ɣ�����۱�ǹ۹����� �轣�����ѡ����ٴ죬������ʱ���Ը�ͷ�˴��� ���������ˣ���� �������ߣ�ʥ������� �۳�������һ�˶��ѡ���ò���£�������ף����� �������ʢ�ա��ȱ���������֪����Ī�������¿� ������Ϊ�����С� �������������Ʋ������������� �����ؼ�������������ӽ������Դ˲��鳤���� �� ���м����������֪�ӣ� ���м��˹����ϣ� һ�轣�����ķ��� ������ɽɫ��ɥ�� ���Ϊ֮�õͰ��� ������������䣬 ����Ⱥ�������裬 ������������ŭ�� ���罭������⡣ 筴���������į�� ���е��Ӵ��ҷ��� ��������ڰۣ� ������������ �����ʴ�����ԣ� ��ʱ���������ˡ� �ȵ���Ů��ǧ�ˣ� ���」������һ�� ��ʮ����Ʒ��ƣ� �糾���������ҡ� ���ӵ�ɢ���̣� Ů������ӳ���ա� ���ڶ�ǰľ�ѹ��� ����ʯ�Dz���ɪ�� ���ۼ��������գ� �ּ������¶����� �Ϸ�֪�������� ����ɽת��� A SONG OF DAGGER-DANCING TO A GIRL-PUPIL OF LADY GONGSUN On the 19th of the Tenth-month in the second year of Dali, I saw, in the house of the Kueifu official Yuante, a girl named Li from Lingying dancing with a dagger. I admired her skill and asked who was her teacher. She named Lady Gongsun. I remembered that in the third year of Kaiyuan at Yancheng, when I was a little boy, I saw Lady Gongsun dance. She was the only one in the Imperial Theatre who could dance with this weapon. Now she is aged and unknown, and even her pupil has passed the heyday of beauty. I wrote this poem to express my wistfulness. The work of Zhang Xu of the Wu district, that great master of grassy writing, was improved by his having been present when Lady Gongsun danced in the Yeh district. From this may be judged the art of Gongsun. There lived years ago the beautiful Gongsun, Who, dancing with her dagger, drew from all four quarters An audience like mountains lost among themselves. Heaven and earth moved back and forth, following her motions, Which were bright as when the Archer shot the nine suns down the sky And rapid as angels before the wings of dragons. She began like a thunderbolt, venting its anger, And ended like the shining calm of rivers and the sea.... But vanished are those red lips and those pearly sleeves; And none but this one pupil bears the perfume of her fame, This beauty from Lingying, at the Town of the White God, Dancing still and singing in the old blithe way. And while we reply to each other\'s questions, We sigh together, saddened by changes that have come. There were eight thousand ladies in the late Emperor\'s court, But none could dance the dagger-dance like Lady Gongsun. ...Fifty years have passed, like the turning of a palm; Wind and dust, filling the world, obscure the Imperial House. Instead of the Pear-Garden Players, who have blown by like a mist, There are one or two girl-musicians now-trying to charm the cold Sun. There are man-size trees by the Emperor\'s Golden Tomb I seem to hear dead grasses rattling on the cliffs of Qutang. ...The song is done, the slow string and quick pipe have ceased. At the height of joy, sorrow comes with the eastern moon rising. And I, a poor old man, not knowing where to go, Must harden my feet on the lone hills, toward sickness and despair.