shí nián shí qī　　dú zài yì xiāng wéi yì kè， měi féng jiā jié bèi sī qīn。
　　 yáo zhī xiōng dì dēng gāo chù， biàn chā zhū yú shǎo yī rén。

　　All alone in a foreign land,
　　I am twice as homesick on this day
　　When brothers carry dogwood up the mountain,
　　Each of them a branch-and my branch missing.

　　jūn wèn guī qī wèi yòu qī， bā shān yè yǔ zhǎng qiū chí。
　　 hé dāng gòng jiǎn xī chuāng zhú， què huà bā shān yè yǔ shí。

　　You ask me when I am coming. I do not know.
　　I dream of your mountains and autumn pools brimming all night with the rain.
　　Oh, when shall we be trimming wicks again, together in your western window?
　　When shall I be hearing your voice again, all night in the rain?

　　qín shí míng yuè hàn shí guān， wàn lǐ cháng zhēng rén wèi hái。
　　 dàn shǐ lóng chéng fēi jiāng zài， bù jiào hú mǎ dù yīn shān。

　　The moon goes back to the time of Qin, the wall to the time of Han,
　　And the road our troops are travelling goes back three hundred miles....
　　Oh, for the Winged General at the Dragon City –
　　That never a Tartar horseman might cross the Yin Mountains!

　　zhū gé dà míng chuí yǔ zhòu， zōng chén yí xiàng sù qīng gāo。
　　 sān fēn gē jù yū chóu cè， wàn gǔ yún xiāo yī yǔ máo。
　　 bó zhòng zhī jiān jiàn yī lǚ， zhǐ huī ruò dìng shī xiāo cáo。
　　 yùn yí hàn zuò zhōng nán fù， zhì jué shēn jiān jūn wù láo。

　　Zhuge's prestige transcends the earth;
　　There is only reverence for his face;
　　Yet his will, among the Three Kingdoms at war,
　　Was only as one feather against a flaming sky.
　　He was brother of men like Yi and Lu
　　And in time would have surpassed the greatest of all statesmen.
　　Though he knew there was no hope for the House of Han,
　　Yet he wielded his mind for it, yielded his life.

　　fēng jí tiān gāo yuán xiào 'āi， zhǔ qīng shā bái niǎo fēi huí。
　　 wú biān luò mù xiāo xiāo xià， bù jìn cháng jiāng gǔn gǔn lái。
　　 wàn lǐ bēi qiū cháng zuò kè， bǎi nián duō bìng dú dēng tái。
　　 jiān nán kǔ hèn fán shuāng bìn， liáo dǎo xīn tíng zhuó jiǔ bēi。

　　In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering,
　　Birds are flying homeward over the clear lake and white sand,
　　Leaves are dropping down like the spray of a waterfall,
　　While I watch the long river always rolling on.
　　I have come three thousand miles away. Sad now with autumn
　　And with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone.
　　Ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples,
　　Heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.

　　shè nán shè běi jiē chūn shuǐ， dàn jiàn qún 'ōu rì rì lái。
　　 huā jìng bù céng yuán kè sǎo， péng mén jīn shǐ wéi jūn kāi。
　　 pán sūn shì yuǎn wú jiān wèi， zūn jiǔ jiā pín zhǐ jiù pēi。
　　 kěn yǔ lín wēng xiāng duì yǐn， gé lí hū qǔ jìn yú bēi。

　　North of me, south of me, spring is in flood,
　　Day after day I have seen only gulls....
　　My path is full of petals – I have swept it for no others.
　　My thatch gate has been closed – but opens now for you.
　　It's a long way to the market, I can offer you little –
　　Yet here in my cottage there is old wine for our cups.
　　Shall we summon my elderly neighbour to join us,
　　Call him through the fence, and pour the jar dry?

　　guó pò shān hé zài， chéng chūn cǎo mù shēn。
　　 gǎn shí huā jiàn lèi， hèn bié niǎo jīng xīn。
　　 fēng huǒ lián sān yuè， jiā shū dǐ wàn jīn。
　　 bái tóu sāo gèng duǎn， hún yù bù shèng zān。

　　Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure;
　　And spring comes green again to trees and grasses
　　Where petals have been shed like tears
　　And lonely birds have sung their grief.
　　...After the war-fires of three months,
　　One message from home is worth a ton of gold.
　　...I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin
　　To hold the hairpins any more.
　　
　　
　　Another version:
　　Advent of Spring
　　
　　The city has fallen: only the hills and rivers remain.
　　In Spring the streets were green with grass and trees.
　　Sorrowing over the times, the flowers are weeping.
　　The birds startled my heart in fear of departing.
　　The beacon fires were burning for three months,
　　A letter from home was worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
　　I scratch the scant hairs on my white head,
　　And vainly attempt to secure them with a hairpin.

　　tài yǐ jìn tiān dū， lián shān dào hǎi yú。
　　 bái yún huí wàng hé， qīng 'ǎi rù kàn wú。
　　 fēn yě zhōng fēng biàn， yīn qíng zhòng hè zhū。
　　 yù tóu rén chù sù， gé shuǐ wèn qiáo fū。

　　Its massive height near the City of Heaven
　　Joins a thousand mountains to the corner of the sea.
　　Clouds, when I look back, close behind me,
　　Mists, when I enter them, are gone.
　　A central peak divides the wilds
　　And weather into many valleys.
　　...Needing a place to spend the night,
　　I call to a wood-cutter over the river.

　　chuáng qián míng yuè guāng， yí shì dì shàng shuāng。
　　 jǔ tóu wàng míng yuè， dī tóu sī gù xiāng。

　　So bright a gleam on the foot of my bed --
　　Could there have been a frost already?
　　Lifting myself to look, I found that it was moonlight.
　　Sinking back again, I thought suddenly of home.
　　
　　
　　2) In the Still of the Night
　　
　　I descry bright moonlight in front of my bed.
　　I suspect it to be hoary frost on the floor.
　　I watch the bright moon, as I tilt back my head.
　　I yearn, while stooping, for my homeland more.
　　
　　
　　3) A Tranquil Night
　　
　　Abed, I see a silver light,
　　I wonder if it's frost aground.
　　Looking up, I find the moon bright;
　　Bowing, in homesickness I'm drowned.
　　
　　
　　4) Night Thoughts
　　Translated by Herbert A. Giles
　　
　　I wake, and moonbeams play around my bed,
　　Glittering like hoar-frost to my wandering eyes;
　　Up towards the glorious moon I raise my head,
　　Then lay me down---and thoughts of home arise.
　　
　　
　　5) On a Quiet Night
　　Translated by S. Obata
　　
　　I saw the moonlight before my couch,
　　And wondered if it were not the frost on the ground.
　　I raised my head and looked out on the mountain noon,
　　I bowed my head and though of my far-off home.
　　
　　
　　6) The Moon Shines Everywhere
　　Translated by W.J.B. Fletcher
　　
　　Seeing the moon before my couch so bright
　　I thought hoar frost had fallen from the night.
　　On her clear face I gaze with lifted eyes:
　　Then hide them full of Youth's sweet memories.
　　
　　
　　7) Night Thoughts
　　Translated by Amy Lowell
　　
　　In front of my bed the moonlight is very bright.
　　I wonder if that can be frost on the floor?
　　I list up my head and look at the full noon, the dazzling moon.
　　I drop my head, and think of the home of old days.
　　
　　
　　8) Thoughts in a Tranquil Night
　　Translated by L. Cranmer-Byng
　　
　　Athwart the bed
　　I watch the moonbeams cast a trail
　　So bright, so cold, so frail,
　　That for a space it gleams
　　Like hoar-frost on the margin of my dreams.
　　I raise my head, -
　　The splendid moon I see:
　　Then droop my head,
　　And sink to dreams of thee -
　　My father land, of thee!
　　
　　
　　9) Nostalgia
　　
　　A splash of white on my bedroom floor. Hoarfrost?
　　I raise my eyes to the moon, the same noon.
　　As scenes long past come to mind, my eyes fall again on the splash of white,
　　and my heart aches for home.
　　
　　
　　10) Pensée dans une nuit tranquille
　　Traduit par Hervey
　　
　　Devant mon lit, la lune jette une clarté très vive;
　　Je doute un moment si ce n'est point la gelée blanche qui brille sur le sol.
　　Je lève la tête, je contemple la lune brillante;
　　Je baisse la tête et je pense à mon pays.

　　gōng gài sān fēn guó， míng chéng bā zhèn tú。
　　 jiāng liú shí bù zhuǎn， yí hèn shī tūn wú。

　　The Three Kingdoms, divided, have been bound by his greatness.
　　The Eight-Sided Fortress is founded on his fame;
　　Beside the changing river, it stands stony as his grief
　　That he never conquered the Kingdom of Wu.

　　lín 'àn cǎo jīng fēng， jiāng jūn yè yǐn gōng。
　　 píng míng xún bái yǔ， méi zài shí lēng zhōng。

　　The woods are black and a wind assails the grasses,
　　Yet the general tries night archery –
　　And next morning he finds his white-plumed arrow
　　Pointed deep in the hard rock.

　　ài xū xī， wēi hū gāo zāi！ shǔ dào zhī nán nán yú shàng qīng tiān！
　　 cán cóng jí yú fú， kāi guó hé máng rán！
　　 ěr lái sì wàn bā qiān suì， shǐ yǔ qín sài tōng rén yān。
　　 xī dāng tài bái yòu niǎo dào， kě yǐ héng jué 'é méi diān。
　　 dì bēng shān cuī zhuàng shì sǐ， rán hòu tiān tī shí zhàn fāng gōu lián。
　　 shàng yòu liù lóng huí rì zhī gāo biāo， xià yòu chōng bō nì zhé zhī huí chuān。
　　 huáng hè zhī fēi shàng bù dé， yuán náo yù dù chóu pān yuán。
　　 qīng ní hé pán pán， bǎi bù jiǔ zhé yíng yán luán。
　　 mén cān lì jǐng yǎng xié xī， yǐ shǒu fǔ yīng zuò cháng tàn。
　　 wèn jūn xī yóu hé shí hái？ wèi tú chán yán bù kě pān！
　　 dàn jiàn bēi niǎo hào gǔ mù， xióng fēi cí cóng rào lín jiān。
　　 yòu wén zǐ guī tí， yè yuè chóu kōng shān。
　　 shǔ dào zhī nán nán yú shàng qīng tiān！ shǐ rén tīng cǐ diāo zhū yán。
　　 lián fēng qù tiān bù yíng chǐ， kū sōng dàoguà yǐ jué bì。
　　 fēi tuān bàoliú zhēng xuān huī， pīng yá zhuǎn shí wàn hè léi。
　　 qí xiǎn yě rú cǐ！
　　 jiē 'ěr yuǎn dào zhī rén， hú wéi hū lái zāi？
　　 jiàn gé zhēng róng 'ér cuī wéi。
　　 yī fū dāng guān， wàn fū mò kāi。
　　 suǒ shǒu huò fěi qīn， huà wéi láng yǔ chái。
　　 cháo bì měng hǔ， xī bì cháng shé。
　　 mó yá shǔn xuè， shā rén rú má。
　　 jǐn chéng suī yún lè， bù rú zǎo hái jiā。
　　 shǔ dào zhī nán nán yú shàng qīng tiān！ cè shēn xī wàng cháng zī jiē！

　　Oh, but it is high and very dangerous!
　　Such travelling is harder than scaling the blue sky.
　　...Until two rulers of this region
　　Pushed their way through in the misty ages,
　　Forty-eight thousand years had passed
　　With nobody arriving across the Qin border.
　　And the Great White Mountain, westward, still has only a bird's path
　　Up to the summit of Emei Peak –
　　Which was broken once by an earthquake and there were brave men lost,
　　Just finishing the stone rungs of their ladder toward heaven.
　　...High, as on a tall flag, six dragons drive the sun,
　　While the river, far below, lashes its twisted course.
　　Such height would be hard going for even a yellow crane,
　　So pity the poor monkeys who have only paws to use.
　　The Mountain of Green Clay is formed of many circles-
　　Each hundred steps, we have to turn nine turns among its mound –
　　Panting, we brush Orion and pass the Well Star,
　　Then, holding our chests with our hands and sinking to the ground with a groan,
　　We wonder if this westward trail will never have an end.
　　The formidable path ahead grows darker, darker still,
　　With nothing heard but the call of birds hemmed in by the ancient forest,
　　Male birds smoothly wheeling, following the females;
　　And there come to us the melancholy voices of the cuckoos
　　Out on the empty mountain, under the lonely moon....
　　Such travelling is harder than scaling the blue sky.
　　Even to hear of it turns the cheek pale,
　　With the highest crag barely a foot below heaven.
　　Dry pines hang, head down, from the face of the cliffs,
　　And a thousand plunging cataracts outroar one another
　　And send through ten thousand valleys a thunder of spinning stones.
　　With all this danger upon danger,
　　Why do people come here who live at a safe distance?
　　...Though Dagger-Tower Pass be firm and grim,
　　And while one man guards it
　　Ten thousand cannot force it,
　　What if he be not loyal,
　　But a wolf toward his fellows?
　　...There are ravenous tigers to fear in the day
　　And venomous reptiles in the night
　　With their teeth and their fangs ready
　　To cut people down like hemp.
　　Though the City of Silk be delectable, I would rather turn home quickly.
　　Such travelling is harder than scaling the blue sky....
　　But I still face westward with a dreary moan.

　　dú zuò yōu huáng lǐ， tánqín fù cháng xiào。
　　 shēn lín rén bù zhī， míng yuè lái xiāng zhào。

　　I sit alone by the serene bamboos,
　　Strumming my zither and whistling.
　　No one knows I'm in the deep woods,
　　Only the moon comes watching.
　　
　　
　　2) Bamboo Adobe
　　By Wang Wei
　　Translated by Liu Wu-chi
　　
　　I sit along in the dark bamboo grove,
　　Playing the zither and whistling long.
　　In this deep wood no one would know -
　　Only the bright moon comes to shine.
　　
　　
　　3) Hut in the Bamboos
　　
　　Sitting alone, in the hush of the bamboo;
　　I thrum my zither, and whistle lingering notes.
　　In the secrecy of the wood, no one can hear;
　　Only the clear moon, comes to shine on me.
　　
　　
　　4) In a Retreat Among Bamboos
　　Translated by Witter Bynner
　　
　　Leaning alone in the close bamboos,
　　I am playing my lute and humming a song
　　Too softly for anyone to hear –
　　Except my comrade, the bright moon.

　　kōng shān bù jiàn rén， dàn wén rén yǔ xiǎng。
　　 fǎn yǐng rù shēn lín， fù zhào qīng tái shàng。

　　There seems to be no one on the empty mountain....
　　And yet I think I hear a voice,
　　Where sunlight, entering a grove,
　　Shines back to me from the green moss.

　　jūn bù jiàn huáng hé zhī shuǐ tiān shàng lái， bēn liú dào hǎi bù fù huí。
　　 jūn bù jiàn gāo táng míng jìng bēi báifà， cháo rú qīng sī mù chéng xuě。
　　 rén shēng dé yì xū jìn huān， mò shǐ jīn zūn kōng duì yuè。
　　 tiān shēng wǒ cái bì yòu yòng， qiān jīn sàn jìn hái fù lái。
　　 pēng yáng zǎi niú qiě wéi lè， huì xū yī yǐn sān bǎi bēi。
　　 cén fū zǐ， dān qiū shēng， jiāng jìn jiǔ， jūn mò tíng。
　　 yǔ jūn gē yī qū， qǐng jūn wéi wǒ cè 'ěr tīng。
　　 zhōng gǔ zhuàn yù bù zú guì， dàn yuàn cháng zuì bù yuàn xǐng。
　　 gǔ lái shèng xián jiē jì mò， wéi yòu yǐn zhě liú qí míng。
　　 chén wáng xī shí yàn píng lè， dǒu jiǔ shí qiān zì huān xuè。
　　 zhù rén hé wéi yán shǎo qián， jìng xū gū qǔ duì jūn zhuó。
　　 wǔ huā mǎ， qiān jīn qiú， hū 'ér jiāng chū huàn měi jiǔ， yǔ 'ěr tóng xiāo wàn gǔ chóu。

　　See how the Yellow River's waters move out of heaven.
　　Entering the ocean, never to return.
　　See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,
　　Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.
　　...Oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases
　　And never tip his golden cup empty toward the moon!
　　Since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed!
　　Spin a thousand pieces of silver, all of them come back!
　　Cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite,
　　And make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink!
　　...To the old master, Cen,
　　And the young scholar, Danqiu,
　　Bring in the wine!
　　Let your cups never rest!
　　Let me sing you a song!
　　Let your ears attend!
　　What are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure?
　　Let me be forever drunk and never come to reason!
　　Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten,
　　And only the great drinkers are famous for all time.
　　...Prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection
　　Ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.
　　Why say, my host, that your money is gone?
　　Go and buy wine and we'll drink it together!
　　My flower-dappled horse,
　　My furs worth a thousand,
　　Hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine,
　　And we'll drown away the woes of ten thousand generations!
　　
　　
　　French version:
　　Chanson à boire
　　Seigneur, ne voyez-vous donc point les eaux du fleuve Jaune?
　　Elles descendent du ciel et coulent vers la mer sans jamais revenir.
　　Seigneur, ne regardez-vous donc point dans les miroirs qui ornent votre noble demeure,
　　Et ne gémissez-vous pas en apercevant vos cheveux blancs?
　　
　　Ils étaient ce matin comme les fils de soie noire,
　　Et, ce soir, les voilà déjà mêlés de neige.
　　L'homme qui sait comprendre la vie doit se réjouir chaque fois qu'il le peut,
　　En ayant soin que jamais sa tasse ne reste vide en face de la lune.
　　
　　Le ciel ne m'a rien donné sans vouloir que j'en fasse usage;
　　Mille pièces d'or que l'on disperse pourront de nouveau se réunir.
　　Que l'on cuise donc un mouton, que l'on découpe un b?uf, et qu'on soit en joie;
　　Il faut qu'ensemble aujourd'hui, nous buvions d'une seule fois trois cents tasses.
　　
　　Les clochettes et les tambours, la recherche dans les mets ne sont point choses nécessaires,
　　Ne désirons qu'une longue ivresse, mais si longue qu'on n'en puisse sortir.
　　Les savants et les sages de l'Antiquité n'ont eu que le silence et l'oubli pour partage;
　　Il n'est vraiment que les buveurs dont le nom passe à la postérité.

yú jìn suǒ jìn yuán xī， shì fǎ tīng shì yě， yòu gǔ huái shù zhū yān， suī shēng yì kě zhī， tóng yīn zhòng wén zhī gǔ shù， ér tīng sòng sī zài， jí zhōu zhào bó zhī gān táng。 měi zhì xī zhào dī yīn， qiū chán shū yǐn， fā shēng yōu xī， yòu qiē cháng wén。 qǐ rén xīn yì yú nǎng shí， jiāng chóng xiǎng bēi yú qián tīng。 jiē hū！ shēng yǐ dòng róng， dé yǐ xiàng xián。 gù jié qí shēn yě， bǐng jūn zǐ dá rén zhī gāo xíng； tuì qí pí yě， yòu xiān dū yǔ huà zhī líng zī。 hòu shí 'ér lái， shùn yīn yáng zhī shù； yìng jié wéi biàn， shěn cáng yòng zhī jī。 yòu mù sī kāi， bù yǐ dào hūn 'ér mèi qí shì； yòu yì zì bó， bù yǐ sú hòu 'ér yì qí zhēn。 yín qiáo shù zhī wēi fēng， yùn zī tiān zòng； yǐn gāo qiū zhī zhuì lù， qīng wèi rén zhī。 pú shī lù jiān yú， zāo shí huī mò。 bù 'āi shāng 'ér zì yuàn， wèi yáo luò 'ér xiān shuāi。 wén huì gǔ zhī liú shēng， wù píng fǎn zhī yǐ zòu； jiàn táng láng zhī bào yǐng， qiè wēi jī zhī wèi 'ān。 gǎn 'ér zhuì shī， yí zhū zhī jǐ。 shù qíng yán wù yìng， āi ruò yǔ zhī piāo líng； dào jì rén zhī， mǐn yú shēng zhī jì mò。 fēi wèi wén mò， qǔ dài yōu yōu yún 'ěr。
西陆蝉声唱，南冠客思深。 不堪玄鬓影，来对白头吟。 露重飞难进，风多响易沉。 无人信高洁，谁为表予心？

　　While the year sinks westward, I hear a cicada
　　Bid me to be resolute here in my cell,
　　Yet it needed the song of those black wings
　　To break a white-haired prisoner's heart....
　　His flight is heavy through the fog,
　　His pure voice drowns in the windy world.
　　Who knows if he be singing still? - -
　　Who listens any more to me?
　　
　　2) On Hearing Cicadas in Prison
　　Tr. Liu Yiqing
　　
　　The year is sinking west, cicadas sing,
　　Their songs stir up the prisoner's grief.
　　I cannot bear the sight of their dark wing,
　　Their hymn to innocence gives me no relief.
　　
　　Wings heavy with dew, hard becomes the flight,
　　Drowned in strong wind, their voice cannot be heard.
　　None would believe their songs are pure and bright,
　　Who could express my feeling deep in word?
　　
　　French version:
　　En prison,
　　le poète entend chanter la cigale
　　La voix de la cigale a résonné, du c?té de la route occidentale;
　　Elle jette dans une rêverie profonde l'h?te qui porte un bonnet du midi.
　　
　　Comment supporterais-je patiemment la vue de ce frêle insecte,
　　Qui vient, tout près de ma tête blanche, répéter son chant douloureux!
　　
　　La rosée, trop lourde pour ses ailes, appesantit sa marche, et l'empêche de prendre son vol;
　　Le vent, qui souffle avec violence, emporte ses cris étouffés.
　　
　　Les hommes ne veulent pas croire à ce qu'il y a de pur et d'élevé (dans le secret de son existence).
　　Puis-je espérer qu'il s'en trouve un, pour faire conna?tre à tous ce que renferme mon c?ur?

　　dú yòu huàn yóu rén， piān jīng wù hòu xīn。
　　 yún xiá chū hǎi shǔ， méi liǔ dù jiāng chūn。
　　 shū qì cuī huáng niǎo， qíng guāng zhuǎn lǜ píng。
　　 hū wén gē gǔ diào， guī sī yù zhān jīn。

　　Only to wanderers can come
　　Ever new the shock of beauty,
　　Of white cloud and red cloud dawning from the sea,
　　Of spring in the wild-plum and river-willow....
　　I watch a yellow oriole dart in the warm air,
　　And a green water- plant reflected by the sun.
　　Suddenly an old song fills
　　My heart with home, my eyes with tears.
　　
　　2) In Reply to Magistrate Lu's Poem: An Excursion in Early Spring
　　Tr. Ni Peiling
　　
　　Only to officials away from home,
　　The shock of beauty ever new will come,
　　Of rising clouds at dawn above the sea,
　　Of Spring in river side plum and willow-tree.
　　Orioles are urged to sing in warm air,
　　And green-clad duckweed in the sun looks fair.
　　An old tune suddenly sung to my ears
　　Fills my heart with home and my eyes with tears.

　　jīn yè fū zhōu yuè， guī zhōng zhǐ dú kàn。
　　 yáo lián xiǎo 'ér nǚ， wèi jiě yì cháng 'ān。
　　 xiāng wù yún huán shī， qīng huī yù bì hán。
　　 hé shí yǐ xū huǎng， shuāng zhào lèi hén gān。

　　Far off in Fuzhou she is watching the moonlight,
　　Watching it alone from the window of her chamber-
　　For our boy and girl, poor little babes,
　　Are too young to know where the Capital is.
　　Her cloudy hair is sweet with mist,
　　Her jade-white shoulder is cold in the moon.
　　...When shall we lie again, with no more tears,
　　Watching this bright light on our screen?

　　fèng huáng tái shàng fèng huáng yóu， fèng qù tái kōng jiāng zì liú。
　　 wú gōng huā cǎo mái yōu jìng， jìn dài yī guān chéng gǔ qiū。
　　 sān shān bàn luò qīng tiān wài， èr shuǐ zhōng fēn bái lù zhōu。
　　 zǒng wéi fú yún néng bì rì， cháng 'ān bù jiàn shǐ rén chóu。

　　Phoenixes that played here once, so that the place was named for them,
　　Have abandoned it now to this desolate river;
　　The paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds;
　　The garments of Qin are ancient dust.
　　...Like this green horizon halving the Three Peaks,
　　Like this Island of White Egrets dividing the river,
　　A cloud has arisen between the Light of Heaven and me,
　　To hide his city from my melancholy heart.

　　jīn zūn qīng jiǔ dǒu shí qiān， yù pán zhēn xiū zhí wàn qián。
　　 tíng bēi tóu zhù bù néng shí， bá jiàn sì gù xīn máng rán。
　　 yù dù huáng hé bīng sài chuān， jiāng dēng tài xíng xuě mǎn shān。
　　 xián lái chuí diào bì xī shàng， hū fù chéng zhōu mèng rì biān。
　　 xíng lù nán， xíng lù nán， duō qí lù， jīn 'ān zài？
　　 cháng fēng pò làng huì yòu shí， zhí guà yún fān jì cāng hǎi。

　　Pure wine costs, for the golden cup, ten thousand coppers a flagon,
　　And a jade plate of dainty food calls for a million coins.
　　I fling aside my food-sticks and cup, I cannot eat nor drink....
　　I pull out my dagger, I peer four ways in vain.
　　I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry;
　　I would climb the Taihang Mountains, but the sky is blind with snow....
　　I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook –
　　But I suddenly dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun....
　　Journeying is hard,
　　Journeying is hard.
　　There are many turnings –
　　Which am I to follow?....
　　I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves
　　And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.

　　hǎi kè tán yíng zhōu， yān tāo wēi máng xìn nán qiú。
　　 yuè rén yǔ tiān lǎo， yún ní míng miè huò kě dǔ。
　　 tiān lǎo lián tiān xiàng tiān héng， shì bá wǔ yuè yǎn chì chéng。
　　 tiān tái sì wàn bā qiān zhàng， duì cǐ yù dǎo dōng nán qīng。
　　 wǒ yù yīn zhī mèng wú yuè， yī yè fēi dù jìng hú yuè。
　　 hú yuè zhào wǒ yǐng， sòng wǒ zhì shàn xī。
　　 xiè gōng sù chù jīn shàng zài， lù shuǐ dàng yàng qīng yuán tí。
　　 jiǎo zhù xiè gōng jī， shēn dēng qīng yún tī。
　　 bàn bì jiàn hǎi rì， kōng zhōng wén tiān jī。
　　 qiān yán wàn hè lù bù dìng， mí huā yǐ shí hū yǐ míng。
　　 xióng páo lóng yín yǐnyánquán， lì shēn lín xī jīng céng diān。
　　 yún qīng qīng xī yù yǔ， shuǐ dàn dàn xī shēng yān。
　　 liè quē pī lì， qiū luán bēng cuī。
　　 dòng tiān shí fēi， hōng rán zhōng kāi。
　　 qīng míng hào dàng bù jiàn dǐ， rì yuè zhào yào jīn yín tái。
　　 ní wéi yī xī fēng wéi mǎ， yún zhī jūn xī fēn fēn 'ér lái xià。
　　 hǔ gǔ sè xī luán huí chē， xiān zhī rén xī liè rú má。
　　 hū hún jì yǐ bó dòng， huǎng jīng qǐ 'ér cháng jiē。
　　 wéi jué shí zhī zhěn xí， shī xiàng lái zhī yān xiá。
　　 shì jiān xíng lè yì rú cǐ， gǔ lái wàn shì dōng liú shuǐ。
　　 bié jūn qù xī hé shí hái， qiě fàng bái lù qīng yá jiān， xū xíng jí qí fǎng míng shān。
　　 ān néng cuī méi zhé yāo shì quán guì， shǐ wǒ bù dé kāi xīn yán !

　　A seafaring visitor will talk about Japan,
　　Which waters and mists conceal beyond approach;
　　But Yueh people talk about Heavenly Mother Mountain,
　　Still seen through its varying deeps of cloud.
　　In a straight line to heaven, its summit enters heaven,
　　Tops the five Holy Peaks, and casts a shadow through China
　　With the hundred-mile length of the Heavenly Terrace Range,
　　Which, just at this point, begins turning southeast.
　　...My heart and my dreams are in Wu and Yueh
　　And they cross Mirror Lake all night in the moon.
　　And the moon lights my shadow
　　And me to Yan River –
　　With the hermitage of Xie still there
　　And the monkeys calling clearly over ripples of green water.
　　I wear his pegged boots
　　Up a ladder of blue cloud,
　　Sunny ocean half-way,
　　Holy cock-crow in space,
　　Myriad peaks and more valleys and nowhere a road.
　　Flowers lure me, rocks ease me. Day suddenly ends.
　　Bears, dragons, tempestuous on mountain and river,
　　Startle the forest and make the heights tremble.
　　Clouds darken with darkness of rain,
　　Streams pale with pallor of mist.
　　The Gods of Thunder and Lightning
　　Shatter the whole range.
　　The stone gate breaks asunder
　　Venting in the pit of heaven,
　　An impenetrable shadow.
　　...But now the sun and moon illumine a gold and silver terrace,
　　And, clad in rainbow garments, riding on the wind,
　　Come the queens of all the clouds, descending one by one,
　　With tigers for their lute-players and phoenixes for dancers.
　　Row upon row, like fields of hemp, range the fairy figures.
　　I move, my soul goes flying,
　　I wake with a long sigh,
　　My pillow and my matting
　　Are the lost clouds I was in.
　　...And this is the way it always is with human joy:
　　Ten thousand things run for ever like water toward the east.
　　And so I take my leave of you, not knowing for how long.
　　...But let me, on my green slope, raise a white deer
　　And ride to you, great mountain, when I have need of you.
　　Oh, how can I gravely bow and scrape to men of high rank and men of high office
　　Who never will suffer being shown an honest-hearted face!

　　qì wǒ qù zhě zuó rì zhī rì bù kě liú，
　　 luàn wǒ xīn zhě jīn rì zhī rì duō fán yōu。
　　 cháng fēng wàn lǐ sòng qiū yàn， duì cǐ kě yǐ hān gāo lóu。
　　 péng lāi wén zhāng jiàn 'ān gǔ， zhōng jiān xiǎo xiè yòu qīng fā。
　　 jù huái yì xīng zhuàng sī fēi， yù shàng qīng tiān lǎn míng yuè。
　　 chōu dāo duàn shuǐ shuǐ gèng liú， jǔ bēi xiāo chóu chóu gèng chóu。
　　 rén shēng zài shì bù chēng yì， míngzhāosàn fā nòng piānzhōu。

　　Since yesterday had to throw me and bolt,
　　Today has hurt my heart even more.
　　The autumn wildgeese have a long wind for escort
　　As I face them from this villa, drinking my wine.
　　The bones of great writers are your brushes, in the School of Heaven,
　　And I am a Lesser Xie growing up by your side.
　　We both are exalted to distant thought,
　　Aspiring to the sky and the bright moon.
　　But since water still flows, though we cut it with our swords,
　　And sorrows return, though we drown them with wine,
　　Since the world can in no way answer our craving,
　　I will loosen my hair tomorrow and take to a fishingboat.

　　lú jiā shàofù yù jīn táng， hǎi yàn shuāng qī dài mào liáng。
　　 jiǔ yuè hán diàn cuī mù yè， shí nián zhēng shù yì liáo yáng。
　　 bái láng hé běi yīn shū duàn， dān fèng chéng nán qiū yè cháng。
　　 shuí wéi hán chóu dú bù jiàn， gèng jiào míng yuè zhào liú huáng！

　　A girl of the Lu clan who lives in Golden-Wood Hall,
　　Where swallows perch in pairs on beams of tortoiseshell,
　　Hears the washing-mallets' cold beat shake the leaves down.
　　...The Liaoyang expedition will be gone ten years,
　　And messages are lost in the White Wolf River.
　　...Here in the City of the Red Phoenix autumn nights are long,
　　Where one who is heart-sick to see beyond seeing,
　　Sees only moonlight on the yellow-silk wave of her loom.

　　qián bù jiàn gǔ rén， hòu bù jiàn lái zhě。
　　 niàn tiān dì zhī yōu yōu， dú chuàng rán 'ér tì xià。

　　By Chen Zi'ang
　　
　　Witness not the sages of the past,
　　Perceive not the wise of the future,
　　
　　Reflecting on heaven and earth eternal,
　　Tears flowing down I lament in loneliness.
　　
　　
　　Another version:
　　ON A GATE-TOWER AT YUZHOU
　　
　　Where, before me, are the ages that have gone?
　　And where, behind me, are the coming generations?
　　I think of heaven and earth, without limit, without end,
　　And I am all alone and my tears fall down.