<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 北征 二>
<Format: 五言古詩>
<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: JOURNEY TO THE NORTH II>
<BookPage: 208-209>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
靡靡踰阡陌，
人煙眇蕭瑟。
所遇多被傷，
呻吟更流血。
回首鳳翔縣，
旌旗晚明滅。
前登寒山重，
屢得飲馬窟。
邠郊入地底，
涇水中蕩潏。
猛虎立我前，
蒼崖吼時裂。
菊垂今秋花，
石戴古車轍。
青雲動高興，
幽事亦可悅。
山果多瑣細，
羅生雜橡栗。
或紅如丹砂，
或黑如點漆。
雨露之所濡，
甘苦齊結實。
緬思桃源內，
益歎身世拙。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Interminable are the pathways between the paddy-fields,
Smoke from the cooking fires is rarely seen.
Occasionally I meet wounded soldiers,
Spilling out their blood, sobbing, moaning.
I turn my head towards Feng Hsiang:
Banners and pennants shine and disappear in the evening sky.
I climb wave after wave of ice-cold hills.
I pause and water my horse at wayside pools.
The land of P'in now lies deep in the valley.
The Ching river runs through it, shining.
Fierce tigers bar my way:
          When they roar, the black precipice cracks.
          Autumn chrysanthemums bend low their heads,
          Rocks bear the scars of ancient cartwheels.
          My spirits rise at the sight of blue clouds:
          Yet this secluded landscape is still pleasing.
          Multitudes of minute delicate hill-haws
          Grow like a net entangled with acorns and chestnuts,
          Some red like cinnebar ore,
          Some black like drops of lacquer.
          Heaven's rain and dew nourish them,
          Sweet and bitter alike they put forth fruit.
          Dreaming of a distant Peach-blossom land,
          Always I deride the senselessness of my wayward life.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Interminable are the pathways between the paddy-fields,
Smoke from the cooking fires is rarely seen.
Occasionally I meet wounded soldiers,
Spilling out their blood, sobbing, moaning.
I turn my head towards Feng Hsiang:
Banners and pennants shine and disappear in the evening sky.
I climb wave after wave of ice-cold hills.
I pause and water my horse at wayside pools.
The land of P'in now lies deep in the valley.
The Ching river runs through it, shining.
Fierce tigers bar my way:
When they roar, the black precipice cracks.
Autumn chrysanthemums bend low their heads,
Rocks bear the scars of ancient cartwheels.
My spirits rise at the sight of blue clouds:
Yet this secluded landscape is still pleasing.
Multitudes of minute delicate hill-haws
Grow like a net entangled with acorns and chestnuts,
Some red like cinnebar ore,
Some black like drops of lacquer.
Heaven's rain and dew nourish them,
Sweet and bitter alike they put forth fruit.
Dreaming of a distant Peach-blossom land,
Always I deride the senselessness of my wayward life.
<End Formatted Translation>