| 題名： | 平城下 |
| 作者： | 李賀 |
| 飢寒平城下，夜夜守明月。別劒無玉花，海風斷鬢髮。塞長連白空，遙見漢旗紅。青帳吹短笛，煙霧溼晝龍。日晚在城上，依稀望城下。風吹枯蓬起，城中嘶瘦馬。借問築城吏，去關幾千里。惟愁裹屍歸，不惜倒戈死。 | |
| 英譯： |
HUNGRY and cold we stand here in P'ing-ch'eng,
Night after night, on guard by the shining moon.
Our keen-edged swords have lost their flowers of jade,
Our hair is falling out in the Gobi wind.
Where endless desert merges with white sky,
We see, far-off, red banners of the Han.
They sit and play short flutes in their green tents,
Mist soaks the painted dragons on their flags.
We climb up on the walls as dusk is falling—
Is something moving out there in the gloom?
A wind is blowing, stirring the dead weeds,
Our half-starved horses whinny in their stalls.
We'd like to ask the brass who built this place
Just how many thousand miles from the Pass we are.
We're sick of seeing men sent home dead in bundles,
Better die in battle and be planted under a lance.
Hungry and cold we stand below the city. We watch the moon every night. The swords we have brought from home do not shine like jade. The seawinds break our hair. Long, long is the desert stretching to the edge of a white sky: A splash of red—the flags of the Hans far away! In the blue tents we play on the slender flutes. Fog and mist moisten our dragon flags. At sunset we stand on the city wall, Looking down towards the dim gate of the city. The wind blows and shakes the withered grasses. Within the city the lean horses whinney. Let us ask the officer who built this city How many thousands of miles we are from home. We grieve only when our hungry corpses are sent home: We do not regret falling by the sword. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |