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���۲���侣� ��ĺ�ͳ��¡� Ұ��������� �����½��ˡ� A NIGHT-MOORING ON THE JIANDE RIVER While my little boat moves on its mooring of mist, And daylight wanes, old memories begin.... How wide the world was, how close the trees to heaven, And how clear in the water the nearness of the moon!
���߲������� ���������� ҹ���������� ����֪���١� A SPRING MORNING I awake light-hearted this morning of spring, Everywhere round me the singing of birds -- But now I remember the night, the storm, And I wonder how many blossoms were broken.
���º�ˮƽ�� �����̫�塣 ���������� ���������ǡ� ��������鮣� �˾ӳ�ʥ���� ���۴����ߣ� ���������顣 �� A MESSAGE FROM LAKE DONGTIN TO PREMIER ZHANG Here in the Eighth-month the waters of the lake Are of a single air with heaven, And a mist from the Yun and Meng valleys Has beleaguered the city of Youzhou. I should like to cross, but I can find no boat. ...How ashamed I am to be idler than you statesmen, As I sit here and watch a fisherman casting And emptily envy him his catch. ��
�����д�л�� �����ɹŽ� ��ɽ��ʤ���� �ұ������١� ˮ������dz�� �캮����� �����ڣ� ������մ�� ON CLIMBING YAN MOUNTAIN WITH FRIENDS While worldly matters take their turn, Ancient, modern, to and fro, Rivers and mountains are changeless in their glory And still to be witnessed from this trail. Where a fisher-boat dips by a waterfall, Where the air grows colder, deep in the valley, The monument of Yang remains; And we have wept, reading the words. ��
���Գ���� �������ﻪ�� ��������ʹ�� ������ɼҡ� ��������� ������������ ͯ������פ�� ��ϧ����ϼ�� AT A BANQUET IN THE HOUSE OF THE TAOIST PRIEST MEI In my bed among the woods, grieving that spring must end, I lifted up the curtain on a pathway of flowers, And a flashing bluebird bade me come To the dwelling-place of the Red Pine Genie. ...What a flame for his golden crucible -- Peach-trees magical with buds ! -- And for holding boyhood in his face, The rosy-flowing wine of clouds! ��
���������飬 ��ɽ���®�� ������������ �ಡ�����衣 �������ϣ� ����������� ������£� ����ҹ���档 ON RETURNING AT THE YEAR'S END TO ZHONGNAN MOUNTAIN I petition no more at the north palace-gate. ...To this tumble-down hut on Zhongnan Mountain I was banished for my blunders, by a wise ruler. I have been sick so long I see none of my friends. My white hairs hasten my decline, Like pale beams ending the old year. Therefore I lie awake and ponder On the pine-shadowed moonlight in my empty window.
���˾��� ��������ҡ� ������ߺϣ� ��ɽ����б�� �����泡�ԣ� �Ѿƻ�ɣ�顣 ���������գ� �����;ջ��� STOPPING AT A FRIEND'S FARM-HOUSE Preparing me chicken and rice, old friend, You entertain me at your farm. We watch the green trees that circle your village And the pale blue of outlying mountains. We open your window over garden and field, To talk mulberry and hemp with our cups in our hands. ...Wait till the Mountain Holiday -- I am coming again in chrysanthemum time. ��
һ�����ԣ� ���������ʡ� ��������Ը�� ���ֻ���ʦ�� �ƽ�ȼ�� ׳־����˥�� ��Ϧ�������� �Ų����汯�� FROM QIN COUNTRY TO THE BUDDHIST PRIEST YUAN How gladly I would seek a mountain If I had enough means to live as a recluse! For I turn at last from serving the State To the Eastern Woods Temple and to you, my master. ...Like ashes of gold in a cinnamon-flame, My youthful desires have been burnt with the years- And tonight in the chilling sunset-wind A cicada, singing, weighs on my heart. ��
ɽ����Գ� ����ҹ���� ��������Ҷ�� ����һ���ۡ� ���·������� ά������Ρ� ���������ᣬ ң�ĺ���ͷ�� FROM A MOORING ON THE TONGLU TO A FRIEND IN YANGZHOU With monkeys whimpering on the shadowy mountain, And the river rushing through the night, And a wind in the leaves along both banks, And the moon athwart my solitary sail, I, a stranger in this inland district, Homesick for my Yangzhou friends, Send eastward two long streams of tears