<Header>
<Author: 李賀>
<Title: 平城下>
<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: BELOW THE CITY OF P'ING>
<BookPage: 264>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
飢寒平城下，
夜夜守明月。
別劒無玉花，
海風斷鬢髮。
塞長連白空，
遙見漢旗紅。
青帳吹短笛，
煙霧溼晝龍。
日晚在城上，
依稀望城下。
風吹枯蓬起，
城中嘶瘦馬。
借問築城吏，
去關幾千里。
惟愁裹屍歸，
不惜倒戈死。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Hungry and cold we stand below the city.
We watch the moon every night.
The swords we have brought from home do not shine like jade.
The seawinds break our hair.

Long, long is the desert stretching to the edge of a white sky:
A splash of red—the flags of the Hans far away!

In the blue tents we play on the slender flutes.
Fog and mist moisten our dragon flags.
At sunset we stand on the city wall,
Looking down towards the dim gate of the city.
The wind blows and shakes the withered grasses.
Within the city the lean horses whinney.

Let us ask the officer who built this city
How many thousands of miles we are from home.
We grieve only when our hungry corpses are sent home:
We do not regret falling by the sword.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Hungry and cold we stand below the city.
We watch the moon every night.
The swords we have brought from home do not shine like jade.
The seawinds break our hair.
Long, long is the desert stretching to the edge of a white sky:
A splash of red—the flags of the Hans far away!
In the blue tents we play on the slender flutes.
Fog and mist moisten our dragon flags.
At sunset we stand on the city wall,
Looking down towards the dim gate of the city.
The wind blows and shakes the withered grasses.
Within the city the lean horses whinney.
Let us ask the officer who built this city
How many thousands of miles we are from home.
We grieve only when our hungry corpses are sent home:
We do not regret falling by the sword.
<End Formatted Translation>