<Header>
<Author: 李頎>
<Title: 送陳章甫>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 2009>
<BookName: Three Hundred TANG POEMS>
<Translator: Harris, Peter>
<TranslatedTitle: Seeing off Chen Zhangfu>
<BookPage: 143-144>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
四月南風大麥黃，
棗花未落桐陰長。
青山朝別暮還見，
嘶馬出門思舊鄉。
陳侯立身何坦蕩，
虬鬚虎眉仍大顙。
腹中貯書一萬卷，
不肯低頭在草莽。
東門酤酒飲我曹，
心輕萬事皆鴻毛。
醉臥不知白日暮，
有時空望孤雲高。
長河浪頭連天黑，
津口停舟渡不得。
鄭國遊人未及家，
洛陽行子空歎息。
聞道故林相識多，
罷官昨日今如何。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Trnaslation>
The fourth month, and there’s a southern breeze
on the yellow barley;
The date palm flowers have yet to fall
and the tung tree leaves grow long.
The green hills you so recently left
you’ll soon be seeing again;
Your horses neigh as they set off,
intent on going home.
Dear Marquis Chen, you carry yourself
with such a composed air,
With your curling whiskers and strong brows
and your expansive forehead.
Stored away inside of you
there are thousands of written works,
So you will not readily bury your head
among the common people.
At the east gate you purchase ale
and present us all with drinks;
You seem lighthearted, all jour concerns
weighing no more than a feather.
You lie back in a drunken state,
unaware that the sun is setting,
Sometimes gazing vacantly
at solitary clouds on high.
The waves of the long river
meet with the dark of the sky;
At the ferry the boats have stopped,
with no way to get across –
So the wanderer from the state of Zheng
has yet to make it home,
While those who have travelled from Luoyang
heave an empty sigh.
I’ve heard that back home in the countryside
you know a lot of people;
Given you have just lost your job,
I wonder how things will be now.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
The fourth month, and there’s a southern breeze on the yellow barley;
The date palm flowers have yet to fall and the tung tree leaves grow long.
The green hills you so recently left you’ll soon be seeing again;
Your horses neigh as they set off, intent on going home.
Dear Marquis Chen, you carry yourself with such a composed air,
With your curling whiskers and strong brows and your expansive forehead.
Stored away inside of you there are thousands of written works,
So you will not readily bury your head among the common people.
At the east gate you purchase ale and present us all with drinks;
You seem lighthearted, all jour concerns weighing no more than a feather.
You lie back in a drunken state, unaware that the sun is setting,
Sometimes gazing vacantly at solitary clouds on high.
The waves of the long river meet with the dark of the sky;
At the ferry the boats have stopped, with no way to get across –
So the wanderer from the state of Zheng has yet to make it home,
While those who have travelled from Luoyang heave an empty sigh.
I’ve heard that back home in the countryside you know a lot of people;
Given you have just lost your job, I wonder how things will be now.
<End Formatted Translation>