| 題名： | 初病風 |
| 作者： | 白居易 |
| 六十八衰翁， 乘衰百疾攻。 朽株難免蠹， 空穴易來風。 肘痹宜生柳， 頭旋劇轉蓬。 恬然不動處， 虛白在胷中。 | |
| 英譯： |
I'm 68 now, feeble and frail, besieged
feeble and frail by a hundred diseases,
but a rotting tree never avoids grubs,
and wind finds empty hollows with ease.
Fingers may numb as willow shoots,
head tumbling, dizzy as brambleblow,
but there's this place, dead-still serene,
this heart gone blank and white as sky.
The decayed old man of sixty-eight Makes the best of ruination Caused by attacks of the hundred ills. It's hard for a withered pillow To avoid the wood-eating worm. It's easy for the wind to enter a gaping hole. My wrist is thin, It might be a willow frond; My head is dizzy, It could be a mugwort swaying madly in a breeze. The one place unmoving and unaffected Is this profound emptiness within my chest. Decayed old man of sixty-eight; taking advantage of his decay the hundred ills attack. Hard for the withered pillow to avoid the wood-eating worm, into an empty hole easily comes the wind. Wrist so skinny it could grow willows, head so dizzy it's a mugwort twisting with the breeze. The one place unmoving unaffected that emptiness within my chest. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |