<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 畫鷹>
<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: THE PAINTING OF AN EAGLE>
<BookPage: 194>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 0>
<End Header>
<Poem>
素練風霜起，
蒼鷹畫作殊。
身思狡兔，
俱目似愁胡。
絛旋光堪擿，
軒楹勢可呼。
何當擊凡鳥，
毛血灑平蕪。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
From pure white silk winds and frost arise.
Look at the eagle painted with so great cunning,
His neck shoots out, he meditates on catching a hare
With the sidelong glance of some wild barbarian.
Those gleaming silk loops and gold rings can be grasped in the hand:
The roof-beams are so clear-drawn one could enter therein.
O marvellous, if the eagle could strike down a bird,
On the grass a precipitation of feathers and blood!
<End Translation>