<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 茅屋爲秋風所破歌>
<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 ROOF WHIRLED AWAY BY WINDS>
<BookPage: 197-198>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
八月秋高風怒號，
卷我屋上三重茅。
茅飛度江灑江郊，
高者挂罥長林梢。
下者飄轉沈塘坳，
南邨羣童欺我老無力。
忍能對面爲盜賊，
公然抱茅入竹去。
脣焦口燥呼不得，
歸來倚仗自歎息。
俄頃風定雲墨色，
秋天漠漠向昏黑。
布衾多年冷似鐵，
驕兒惡臥踏裏裂。
牀牀屋漏無乾處，
雨脚如麻未斷絕。
自經喪亂少睡眠，
長夜霑濕何由徹。
安得廣廈千萬間，
大庇天下寒士俱歡顏。
風雨不動安如山，
嗚呼！何時眼前突兀見此屋？吾廬獨破受凍死亦足。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
In the eighth moon of autumn, the wind howling viciously,
Three layers of thatch were whirled away from my roof.
The thatch flying over the river sprinkled the embankment
And some of it was entangled in the tree-tops,
And some whirled away and sank in the marshlands.
A swarm of small boys from South Village laughed at me because I am old and feeble:
They know they can rob me even in my face.
What effrontery! Stealing my thatch, taking it to the bamboo grove.
With parched lips and tongue I screamed at them—it was no use—
And so I came back sighing to my old place.
Then the wind fell and the clouds were inky black,
The autumn sky a web of darkness, stretching towards the dusk,
And my old cotton quilt was as cold as iron,
And my darling son tossed in his sleep, bare feet tearing through the blanket,
And the rain dripped through the roof, and there was, no dry place on the bed.
Like strings of wax the rain fell, unending.
Amid all these disasters of war, I have had little sleep or rest.
When will this long night of drizzle come to an end?
Now I dream of an immense mansion, tens of thousands of rooms,
Where all the cold creatures can take shelter, their faces alight,
Not moved by the wind or the rain, a mansion as solid as a mountain—
Alas, when shall I see such a majestic house?
If I could see this, even though my poor house were torn down,
Even though I were frozen to death I would be content. 
<End Translation>