<Header>
<Author: 李白>
<Title: 聽蜀僧濬彈琴>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1947>
<BookName: THE WHITE PONY: An Anthology of Chinese Poetry from the Earliest Times to the Present Day, Newly Translated>
<Translator: Robert Payne>
<TranslatedTitle: LISTENING TO THE MONK OF SZECHUAN PLAYING ON HIS LUTE>
<BookPage: 173>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
蜀僧抱綠綺，
西下峨眉峰。
爲我一揮手，
如聽萬壑松。
客心洗流水，
餘響入霜鐘。
不覺碧山暮，
秋雲暗幾重。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
The monk of Szechuan on the heights of Mount Omei
Comes down westward, under his arms a Lu-yi lute.
He plays for me, fingers brushing the strings
And the sound is like the murmuring pine-trees in ravines.
So with the "Flowing Spring" song he recreates my soul.
For a long while the last echoes weave in the tolling of the frost-bells.
In this entrancement the blue hills dim and darken.
Heavy are the autumn clouds sailing heavenward.
<End Translation>