<Header>
<Author: 李賀>
<Title: 聽穎師琴歌>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1970>
<BookName: The Poems of Li Ho>
<Translator: J. D. Frodsham>
<TranslatedTitle: Song: Listening to Master Ying Playing the Lute>
<BookPage: 279-280>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2, 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
別浦雲歸桂花渚，
蜀國弦中雙鳳語。
芙蓉葉落秋鸞離，
越王夜起遊天姥。
暗珮清臣敲水玉，
渡海蛾眉牽白鹿。
誰看挾劒赴長橋，
誰看浸髮題春竹。
竺僧前立當吾門，
梵宮真相眉稜尊。
古琴大軫長八尺，
嶧陽老樹非桐孫。
涼館聞弦驚病客，
藥囊暫別龍鬚席。
請歌直請卿相歌，
奉禮官卑復何益。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
CLOUDS of the Shores of Parting home
From the isle of cassia flowers,
Through strings of a lute from Shu
Two phoenixes talk.
Lotus leaves falling in autumn
As simurghs part,
A king of Yüeh wandering at night
On Mount T’ien-mu.

Hidden girdle-gems of an honest minister,
Tinkling crystals,
Fairy maidens crossing the sea,
Leading white deer.
What vision is going to Long Bridge,
Sword in hand?
What vision is writing on spring bamboo
With ink-soaked hair?

An Indian monk is standing here,
Right at my gate,
An arhat with venerable eyebrows
In a Buddhist temple.
I is antique lute, fill eight feet long.
Has massive stops,
An ancient tree-trunk from Mount Yi-yang.
$Not a puny branch.$

Sound of strings through the cold room
Rouses me from my sick-bed,
Leaving my potions for a while
I sit on the dragon's beard.
If you want a song, you ought to ask
A cabinet-minister,
Maestro, do not demean yourself
With a mere clerk.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
CLOUDS of the Shores of Parting home from the isle of cassia flowers,
Through strings of a lute from Shu two phoenixes talk.
Lotus leaves falling in autumn as simurghs part,
A king of Yüeh wandering at night on Mount T’ien-mu.

Hidden girdle-gems of an honest minister, tinkling crystals,
Fairy maidens crossing the sea, leading white deer.
What vision is going to Long Bridge, sword in hand?
What vision is writing on spring bamboo with ink-soaked hair?

An Indian monk is standing here, right at my gate,
An arhat with venerable eyebrows in a Buddhist tempie.
I is antique lute, fill eight feet long.
Has massive stops, an ancient tree-trunk from Mount Yi-yang. 
$Not a puny branch.$

Sound of strings through the cold room rouses me from my sick-bed,
Leaving my potions for a while I sit on the dragon's beard.
If you want a song, you ought to ask a cabinet-minister,
Maestro, do not demean yourself with a mere clerk.
<End Formatted Translation>