<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 古柏行>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 2009>
<BookName: Three Hundred TANG POEMS>
<Translator: Harris, Peter>
<TranslatedTitle: Ballad of the old cypress>
<BookPage: 58-59>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2>
<End Header>
<Poem>
孔明廟前有老柏，
柯如青銅根如石。
霜皮溜雨四十圍，
黛色參天二千尺。
君臣已與時際會，
樹木猶爲人愛惜。
雲來氣接巫峽長，
月出寒通雪山白。
憶昨路繞錦亭東，
先主武侯同閟宮。
崔嵬枝幹郊原古，
窈窕丹青戶牖空。
落落盤踞雖得地，
冥冥孤高多烈風。
扶持自是神明力，
正直原因造化功。
大廈如傾要梁棟，
萬牛回首丘山重。
不露文章世已驚，
未辭剪伐誰能送。
苦心豈免容螻蟻，
香葉終經宿鸞鳳。
志士幽人莫怨嗟，
古來材大難爲用。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
In front of the temple of Zhu Geliang
there stands an aged cypress;
Its boughs are like bronze, 
its roots like rocks,
Its rimy bark running with rain 
is forty spans around,
Its blue-black colours soar two thousand 
feet into the sky.
The ruler and the minister
had their appointment with time, 
But the tree is still there
for people to love and cherish. 
When clouds come by its vapours spread 
as far as the long Wu gorge;
When there’s a moon it shares the cold 
with the white Snow Mountains.
(I remember where the road went round 
to the east of Brocade Pavilion,
The first ruler and $Zhu Geliang$ 
once shared a single shrine;
The trees there were imposing,
on the old plain near the town,
The paintings in it hard to make out, 
the doors and windows empty.)
Although the cypress holds its ground, 
its roots spread out and coiled,
It stands alone, in the depths of the sky 
where the winds are often fierce.
It is the strength of the gods, of course, 
that has kept it standing,
So straight and upright it has to be 
the work of the creator.
If a mansion collapsed and the tree was needed 
for the beams and rafters 
Herds of oxen would turn their heads
at the mountainous weight being hauled.
It shows no art or artifice,
yet the world is still amazed;
It has never rejected the cut of an axe, 
for who could take it away?
Its bitter heart cannot avoid 
putting up with ants;
Pairs of phoenixes always roost 
among its fragrant leaves.
Those with ambition, or hidden away:
do not sigh with resentment ‒
Since long ago the greatest resources 
have always been hard to use.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
In front of the temple of Zhu Geliang there stands an aged cypress;
Its boughs are like bronze, its roots like rocks,
Its rimy bark running with rain is forty spans around,
Its blue-black colours soar two thousand feet into the sky.
The ruler and the minister had their appointment with time, 
But the tree is still there for people to love and cherish. 
When clouds come by its vapours spread as far as the long Wu gorge;
When there's a moon it shares the cold with the white Snow Mountains.
(I remember where the road went round to the east of Brocade Pavilion,
The first ruler and $Zhu Geliang$ once shared a single shrine;
The trees there were imposing, on the old plain near the town,
The paintings in it hard to make out, the doors and windows empty.)
Although the cypress holds its ground, its roots spread out and coiled,
It stands alone, in the depths of the sky where the winds are often fierce.
It is the strength of the gods, of course, that has kept it standing,
So straight and upright it has to be the work of the creator.
If a mansion collapsed and the tree was needed for the beams and rafters 
Herds of oxen would turn their heads at the mountainous weight being hauled.
It shows no art or artifice, yet the world is still amazed;
It has never rejected the cut of an axe, for who could take it away?
Its bitter heart cannot avoid putting up with ants;
Pairs of phoenixes always roost among its fragrant leaves.
Those with ambition, or hidden away: do not sigh with resentment ‒
Since long ago the greatest resources have always been hard to use.
<End Formatted Translation>