| 英譯： |
A CURLY-HAIRED nomad boy
With eyes of green,
By a tall mansion, in the still of the night
Is playing his flute.
Every note seems to have come
Down from heaven.
Under the moon a lovely girl weeping,
Sick for home.
Deftly he fingers the seven holes,
Hiding their stars,
Kung and chih secretly harmonize
With the pure breeze.
Deep autumn on the roads of Shu,
A cloud-filled forest.
From the Hsiang river at midnight
Startled dragons rise.
A lovely girl in her jade room
Broods on the frontier.
Bright moonshine on her sapphire window—
Sadly she hears the flute.
A hundred feet of glossed silk beaten
On the cold fulling-block
Tears congeal as pearls in her powder,
Soak her red gown.
Play no more the Lung-t'ou tune,
Nomad boy!
No one knows a girl's heart is breaking
Beyond that casement.
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