| 題名： | 春望 |
| 作者： | 杜甫 |
| 國破山河在，城春草木深。感時花濺淚，恨別鳥驚心。烽火連三月，家書抵萬金。白頭搔更短，渾欲不勝簪。 | |
| 英譯： |
The nation shattered, hills and streams remain.
The city in spring, grass and trees deep:
feeling the times, flowers draw tears;
hating separation, birds alarm the heart.
Beacon fires three months running,
a letter from home worth ten thousand in gold—
white hairs, fewer for the scratching,
soon too few to hold a hairpin up.
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. The nation is ruined, but mountains and rivers remain. This spring the city is deep in weeds and brush. Touched by the times even flowers weep tears. Fearing leaving the birds tangled hearts. Watch-tower fires have been burning for three months To get a note from home would cost ten thousand gold. Scratching my white hair thinner Seething hopes all in a trembling hairpin. The nation shattered, hills and streams remain. A city in spring, grass and trees deep: feeling the times, flowers draw tears; hating separation, birds alarm the heart. Beacon fires three months running, a letter from home worth ten thousand in gold- white hairs, fewer for the scratching, soon too few to hold a hairpin up. The nation has fallen, the land endures: Spring trees and grasses flourish in the town. Troubled by the times— flowers bring tears; Dreading parting— birds startle the soul. With turmoil of battle three months on end, A letter from home is worth a fortune in gold. Scratching these white locks makes them even thinner; As it is, they can barely hold a pin. In fallen States hills and streams are found, Cities have Spring, grass and leaves abound; Though at such times flowers might drop tears, Parting from mates, birds have hidden fears: The beacon fires have now linked three moons, Making home news worth ten thousand coins; An old grey head scratched at each mishap Has dwindling hair, does not fit its cap! THE capital is in ruins, all that is left are the hills and rivers; In spring its streets lie deep in grass and trees; In sorrow for the times the very flowers are weeping And the birds flutter in grief at the sad farewell. The smoke of beacons has burnt for three months on end. Letters from home are worth ten thousand pieces of gold. I scratch the scanty hairs on my white head; Vaguely I struggle and without success to secure them with a pin. The country torn apart, what though the mountains and rivers are as before? And the greenery--too profuse for a city in spring. Grieving over the times, the flowers are bedewed with tears. Loath to part, the birds are stricken to the heart. War has been blazing for three months, A letter from home is worth ten thousand pieces of gold. My white head cannot bear scratching, The hair already too thin to hold a pin. 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. 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. A nation though fallen, the land yet remains. When Spring fills the City, its foliage is dense. In grief for the times, a tear the flower stains. In woe for such parting, the birds fly from thence. For three months unceasing the bale fires now flare. A letter from home costs a fortune to bring. These worries scratch off my last falling grey hair. My own foolish wishes my pen cannot wing. A nation though fallen, the land yet remains. When Spring fills the City, its foliage is dense. In grief for the times, a tear the flower stains. In woe for such parting, the birds fly from thence. For three months unceasing the bale fires now flare. A letter from home costs a fortune to bring. These worries scratch off my last falling grey hair. My own foolish wishes my pen cannot wing. As ever are hills and rills while my country crumbles; When springtime comes over the Capital the grass scrambles. Blossoms invite my tears as in wild times they bloom; The flitting birds stir my heart as I'm parted from home. For three months the beacon fires soar and burn the skies, A family letter is worth ten thousand gold in price. I scratch my head, and my grey hair has grown too thin, It seems, to bear the weight of the jade clasp and pin. As ever are hills and rills while the Kingdom crumbles, When springtime comes over the Capital the grass scrambles. Blossoms invite my tears as in wild times they bloom; The flitting birds stir my heart that I'm parted from home. For three months the beacon fires soar and burn the skies, A family letter is worth ten thousand gold in price. I scratch my head, and my grey hair has grown too thin It seems, to bear the weight of the jade clasp and pin. The nation is ruined, but mountains and rivers remain. This spring the city is deep in weeds and brush. Touched by the times even flowers weep tears, Fearing leaving the birds tangled hearts. Watch-tower fires have been burning for three months To get a note from home would cost ten thousand gold. Scratching my white hair thinner Seething hopes all in a trembling hairpin. The state goes to ruin mountains and rivers survive spring in the city thick leaves, deep grass in times like these the flowers seem to weep birds, as if they too hated separation flutter close by startle the heart for three months the beacon fires have been lit a lettre from home is worth a fortune this white hair is getting sparse from scratching almost too thin to hold a hatpin! As ever are hills and rills while the Kingdom crumbles, When springtime comes over the Capital the grass scrambles. Blossoms invite my tears as in wild times they bloom, The flitting birds stir my heart that I'm parted $(from home)$. For three months the beacon fires soar and burn the skies; A family letter is worth ten thousand gold in price. I scratch my head, and my grey hair has grown too thin It seems, to bear the weight of the hair clasp and pin. |
| 日譯： |
国は崩壊し、山河のみが以前と変わらずに存在している。こと長安も春になれば、草や木が昨春までと同じように青々と生い茂る。世相を痛ましく思うあまり、咲く花をみても涙がこぼれ、妻子との生き別れを思いわずらうあまり、鳥のねをきいても胸が引き裂かれる。
戦いののろしは少しも収まる気配が無く、もう何ヶ月にもわたって続き、妻からのたよりはいっこうに配達されず、もしも届いたならば巨万の富に相当するありがたみを覚えるだろう。
わが白髪は掻くほどにどんどん抜け落ちてうすくなり、もはやとうていかんざしをさせそうにない。
国破（くにやぶ）れて 山河（さんが）在（あ）り 城春（しろはる）にして 草木（さうもく）深（ふか）し 時（とき）に感（かん）じては 花（はな）にも涙（なみだ）を濺（そそ）ぎ 別（わか）れを恨（うら）みては 鳥（とり）にも心（こころ）を驚（おどろ）がす 烽火（ほうくわ） 三月（さんげつ）に連（つら）なり 家書（かしょ） 万金（ばんきん）に抵（あ）たる 白頭（はくとう） 搔（か）けば更（さら）に短（みじか）く 渾（す）べて簪（しん）に勝（た）へざらんと欲（ほっ）す 国破れて 山河在り 城春にして 草木深し 時に感じては 花にも涙を濺ぎ 別れを恨みては 鳥にも心を驚がす 烽火 三月に連なり 家書 万金に抵たる 白頭 搔けば更に短く 渾べて簪に勝へざらんと欲す 都は荒れはてても、山河は昔のままだ。城内にも春がめぐってきて、草木の緑い。 この多難な時代を思うと、花を見ても涙がこぼれるし、家族との別離を嘆いては、鳥の声にも胸がさわぐ。 戦いを告げる熾火は三月もやまず、家族からの便りは万金に値ずる。 白髪頭はかけばかくほど薄くなり、このままでは響もさせなくなりそうだ。 国破（くにやぶ）れて山河（さんが）在（あ）り、 城春（しろはる）にして草木（さうもく）深（ふか）し。 時（とき）に感（かん）じては花（はな）にも涙（なみだ）を濺（そそ）ぎ、 別（わか）れを恨（うら）んでは鳥（とり）にも心（こころ）を驚（おどろ）がす。 烽火（ほうか） 三月（さんがつ）に連（つら）なり、 家書（かしょ） 万金（ばんきん）に抵（あた）る。 白頭（はくとう） 搔（か）けば更（さら）に短（みじか）く、 渾（すべ）て簪（しん）に勝（た）えざらんと欲（ほっ）す。 国破れて山河在り、 城春にして草木深し。 時に感じては花にも涙を濺ぎ、 別れを恨んでは鳥にも心を驚がす。 烽火 三月に連なり、 家書 万金に抵る。 白頭 搔けば更に短く、 渾て簪に勝えざらんと欲す。 |