<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 茅屋為秋風所破歌>
<Format: 古詩>
<Year: 1981>
<BookName: Tu Fu -A New Translation>
<Translator: Wu, Juntao>
<TranslatedTitle: Ode To My Cottage Unroofed by the Autumn Gales>
<BookPage: 112-115>
<UsedPage: 4>
<Feature: 1, 2, 3>
<End Header>
<Poem>
八月秋高風怒號，
捲我屋上三重茅。
茅飛度江灑江郊，
高者掛罥長林梢，
下者飄轉沈塘坳。
南村群童欺我老無力，
忍能對面為盜賊。
公然抱茅入竹去，
脣焦口燥呼不得，
歸來倚杖自歎息。
俄頃風定雲墨色，
秋天漠漠向昏黑。
布衾多年冷似鐵，
嬌兒惡臥踏裏裂。
床頭屋漏無乾處，
雨腳如麻未斷絕。
自經喪亂少睡眠，
長夜霑溼何由徹！
安得廣廈千萬間，
大庇天下寒士俱歡顏，
風雨不動安如山！
嗚呼！
何時眼前突兀見此屋，
吾廬獨破受凍死亦足！
<End Poem>
<Translation>
In the Eighth Moon , the autumn gales howl from on high ; 
The thrice-laid thatch rolls from my roof to the sky . 
Scattered about , across the river , the straws fly , 
On the tips of the tall trees they hang and twine , 
Or swirling down to the pools they sink and lie . 
Urchins from Southern Village tease that I'm an old one , 
They rob , under my eyes , in the face of the sun , 
By holding armfuls of straws , and actually run 
Into the bamboos , $(taking my shouting as fun .)$
0 
I can only come back , and leaning on my cane groan . 
Meanwhile , the clouds are dark as ink when the gales cease , 
And the autumn sky is veiled in dusky sheets . 
Cold as iron is the quilt worn for many years ; 
My boy , sleeping ill , trod the lining into pieces . 
Wet is at the bed-side , as the roof there has leaks ; The raindrops drip successively down like hemp seeds . 
E'er since the upheaval we've been short of sleeps ; 
How to endure the soakage till the long night flees ? 
If there were spacious houses , thousands and more , 
Sheltering all the world to the joy of the poor,
Unshaken like the mountains in the storm's uproar ! 
Alas ! i'd prefer my cot ruins , I myself frozen to death , 
To the towering houses that one day stand in my face !
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
In the Eighth Moon , the autumn gales howl from on high ; 
The thrice-laid thatch rolls from my roof to the sky . 
Scattered about , across the river , the straws fly , 
On the tips of the tall trees they hang and twine , 
Or swirling down to the pools they sink and lie . 
Urchins from Southern Village tease that I'm an old one , 
They rob , under my eyes , in the face of the sun , 
By holding armfuls of straws , and actually run Into the bamboos , 
$(taking my shouting as fun .)$
0 
I can only come back , and leaning on my cane groan . 
Meanwhile , the clouds are dark as ink when the gales cease , 
And the autumn sky is veiled in dusky sheets . 
Cold as iron is the quilt worn for many years ; 
My boy , sleeping ill , trod the lining into pieces . 
Wet is at the bed-side , as the roof there has leaks ; The raindrops drip successively down like hemp seeds . 
E'er since the upheaval we've been short of sleeps ; 
How to endure the soakage till the long night flees ? 
If there were spacious houses , thousands and more , 
Sheltering all the world to the joy of the poor,
Unshaken like the mountains in the storm's uproar ! 
Alas ! 
To the towering houses that one day stand in my face !
I'd prefer my cot ruins , I myself frozen to death ,
<End Formatted Translation>