许渊冲：书销中外百余本，诗译英法唯一人 | 灵感手抄本
From hill to hill no bird in flight; From path to path no man in sight.
A lonely fisherman afloat, Is fishing snow in a lonely boat.
I look for what I miss; I know not what it is. I feel so sad, so drear, So lonely, without cheer. How hard is it to keep me fit？In this lingering cold! Hardly warmed up, By cup on cup of wine so dry, O how could I endure at dusk the drift of wind so swift?
It breaks my heart, alas! To see the wild geese pass, For they are my acquaintances of old. The ground is covered with yellow flowers, faded and fallen in showers. Who will pick them up now? Sitting alone at the window, how could I but quicken. The pace of darkness that won’t thicken? On the plane’s broad leaves a fine rain drizzles as twilight grizzles. O what can I do with a grief beyond belief?
So bright and brave, with rifles five feet long, At early dawn they shine on drilling place.
Most Chinese daughters have desire so strong, To face the powder and not to powder the face.
The red beans grow in southern land. How many loads in spring the trees?
Gather them till full is your hand; They would revive fond memories.
The wind so swift, the sky so wide, apes wail and cry;
Water so clear, and beach so white, birds wheel and fly.
The boundless forest sheds its leaves shower by shower;
The endless river rolls its waves hour after hour, A thousand miles from home, I’m grieved at autumn’s plight;
I'll now and then for years, alone I’m on this height, Living in times so hard, at frosted hair I pine; Cast down by poverty, I have to give up wine.
Deep, deep the courtyard where he is, so deep. It’s veiled by smokelike willows heap on the heap. By curtain on curtain and screen on the screen. Leaving his saddle and bridle, there he has been Merry-making. From my tower, his trace can’t be seen.
The third moon now, the wind and rain are raging late; At dusk, I bar the gate, But I can’t bar in spring. My tearful eyes ask flowers, but they fail to bring an answer, I see red blooms over the swing.
Be the man of men while you’re alive, Be the soul of souls e’en if you’re dead!
Think of Xiang Yu who’d not survive, His men whose blood for him was shed!
The sun along with the mountain bows; The Yellow River seawards flows.
If you’ll enjoy a grander sight, You’d climb up to a greater height.
A drizzling rain falls like tears on the Mourning Day; The mourner's heart is going to break on his way.
Where can a wineshop be found to drown his sad hours? A cowherd points to a cot 'mid apricot flowers.
Over old trees wreathed with rotten vines fly evening crows; Under a small bridge near a cottage a stream flows; On ancient road in the west wind a lean horse goes.
Westward declines the sun;
Far, far from home is the heartbroken one.
Amid the flowers, from a pot of wine. I drink alone beneath the bright moonshine.
I raise my cup to invite the Moon who blends... Her light with my Shadow and we're three friends.
The Moon does not know how to drink her share; In vain my Shadow follows me here and there.
Together with them for the time I stay, And make merry before spring's spent away.
I sing and the Moon lingers to hear my song; My shadow's a mess while I dance along.
Sober, we three remain cheerful and gay; Drunken, we part and each may go his way.
Our friendship will outshine all earthly love, Next time we'll meet beyond the stars above.
It's said the Northern Gate is recaptured of late; When the news reach my ears, my gown is wet with tears.
Starting at my wife's face, of grief I find no trace; Rolling up my verse books, my joy like madness looks.
Though I am white-haired, still I'd sing and drink my fill. With verdure spring's aglow, it's time we homeward go.
We shall sail all the way through Three Gorges in a day. Going down to Xiangyang, we'll come up to Luoyang.
abed, I see a silver light; I wonder if it's frost around.
Looking up, I find the moon bright; Bowing, in homesickness I’m drowned.
In gala robe she comes down from her chamber. Into her courtyard, enclosure of spring. When she tries from the center to count the flowers, On her hairpin of jade a dragonfly poises.
Your grasses up north are as blue as jade, Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches;
And at last, you think of returning home, now when my heart is almost broken.
O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you, Why part the silk curtains by my bed?
No water's enough when you have crossed the sea；No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns the peak.
I pass by flowers that fail to attract poor me Half for your sake and the half for Taoism I seek.
When I left here, Willows shed tear. Now I come back, On snowy track. Long, long the way, Hard, hard the day. My grief o'er flows. Who knows? Who knows!