<Header>
<Author: 孟郊>
<Title: 山老吟>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1965>
<BookName: POEMS OF THE LATE T'ANG>
<Translator: Graham& Anque Charlet>
<TranslatedTitle: Song of the Old Man of the Hills>
<BookPage: 64>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 0>
<End Header>
<Poem>
不行山下地，
唯種山上田。
腰斧斫旅松，
手飄汲家泉。
詎知文字力，
莫記日月遷。
蟠木爲我身，
始得全天年。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
I never go to the plains beneath the hills,
Only On the hillside plant my fields.
The hatchet at my waist chops down the pines in the copse,
The gourd in my hand draws water from the homestead spring.
What do I care for the force of written words?
Let no one heed the shifts of sun and moon.
When the twisted tree at last shall be my body
Then I shall begin to live out my natural span.
<End Translation>