<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 促織>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1952>
<BookName: TUFU China's Greatest Poet>
<Translator: William Hung>
<TranslatedTitle: THE CRICKET>
<BookPage: 153>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
促織甚微細，
哀音何動人。
草根吟不穩，
牀下夜相親。
久客得無淚，
放妻難及晨。
悲絲與急管，
感激異天真。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
The cricket is a tiny creature; Yet its melancholy notes are profoundly
touching. Refusing to sing among the roots of the weeds, It has come
indoors to be with people- under their bed. A lone wanderer will not
be able to withhold his tears; An abandoned wife will not be able to
seelp until the morning. Neither the strings nor the pipes Can move
us so much as nature's own music.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
The cricket is a tiny creature;
Yet its melancholy notes are profoundly touching.
Refusing to sing among the roots of the weeds,
It has come indoors to be with people- under their bed.
A lone wanderer will not be able to withhold his tears;
An abandoned wife will not be able to seelp until the morning.
Neither the strings nor the pipes
Can move us so much as nature's own music.
<End Formatted Translation>