| 英譯： |
The ten thousand grasses are already cool with dew,
As I open the scroll and unfold the ancient pines.
Among blue mountains that stretch by the vast sea,
On which peak are these trees growing?
Their solitary roots spread far, relying on nothing;
They stand straight, pillaring the primeval air of nature:
Upright as the persons of true gentlemen,
Erect as brave knights with chests thrust forward.
Their low-bending branches stretch powerfully,
Suddenly twisting upward as if to reach the sky.
Again, they are like dragons running in surprise,
Silently encountering rushing clouds.
Their offshoots give forth tiny leaves
As soft as a fine fox fur coat,
Or the thick tufts of hair on top of a child's head,
Or the dense dark eyebrows of a beautiful lady.
After looking at them for a long time, my eyes are dazzled;
Quickly and suddenly, their appearance changes:
Just now they stood lofty and straight,
In a moment their graceful branches seem to be pulled.
Then I seem to be in a cool secluded chamber,
Where a green coverlet spreads like the vault of heaven,
Or watching the maidens from the Wisteria Hill
Making up their faces early in the morning.
The fine twigs, I suspect, have obtained the primordial essence;
The fierce trunks seem to compete with the works of the gods.
Though the swallows and sparrows are silent,
The mists and dews frequently appear in abundance.
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