| 英譯： |
The singers have hushed their notes of clean song:
The red sleeves of the dancers are motionless.
Hugging his lute, the old harper of Chao
Stresses and skiffs over the over cords.
The loud notes brawl and scatter abroad:
"Sa, sa," Iike wind blowing the rain.
The soft notes dying almost to nothing;
"Ch'ieh, ch'ieh, " like the voice of ghosts talking.
Now as glad as the magpie's lucky chirp:
Again bitter as the gibbon's sad cry.
His ten fingers have no fixed note:
Up and down—kung, chih and yü.
And those who sit and listen to the tune he plays
Of soul and body lose the mastery.
And those who pass that way as he plays the tune,
Suddenly stop and cannot raise their feet.
Alas, alas the ears of common men
Should love the modern and not love the old.
Thus it is that the harp in the green window
Day by day is covered deeper with dust.
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