<Header>
<Author: 李賀>
<Title: 送沈亞之歌>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1970>
<BookName: The Poems of Li Ho>
<Translator: J. D. Frodsham>
<TranslatedTitle: Song: Seeing off Shen Ya-chih>
<BookPage: 20-22>
<UsedPage: 3>
<Feature: 1, 4, 5>
<End Header>
<Poem>
吳興才人怨春風，
桃花滿陌千里紅。
紫絲竹斷騘馬小，
家住錢塘東復東。
白藤交穿織書笈，
短策齊裁如梵夾。
雄光寶礦獻春卿，
煙底驀波乘一葉。
春卿拾材白日下，
擲置黃金解龍馬。
攜笈歸江重入門，
勞勞誰是憐君者。
吾聞壯夫重心骨，
古人三走無摧捽。
請君待旦事長鞭，
他日還轅及秋律。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
THIS talented man from Wu-hsing Resents the winds of spring.
Peach blossom burgeons over the roads— A thousand leagues of red! 
With purple reins and a snapped bamboo On a small piebald nag, 
He's riding home to Ch'ien-t'ang— East, then east again. 
From criss-cross shoots of white rattan, His book-basket was woven. 
Short bamboo-slips, all of a length, Like Buddhist texts. 
His flashing strength, his precious ore, Offered to Spring Officials. 
He skimmed the waves beneath the mist, Riding a single leaf.
The Spring Officials garner talent Wherever the white sun shines, 
But threw away this yellow gold, Let slip this dragon-horse. 
So satchel in hand, he returned to the River, Back through his gates, 
Weary and worn — yet who was there To give him sympathy? 
I hear a brave man always treasures His heart and his bones. 
Three times that ancient ran away, Yet never lost his head.
I beg you now to wait till dawn Before you ply your whip.
Your carriage will come back one day To the tune of autumn pipes.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
THIS talented man from Wu-hsing  resents the winds of spring.
Peach blossom burgeons over the roads—a thousand leagues of red! 
With purple reins and a snapped bamboo  on a small piebald nag, 
He's riding home to Ch’ien-t’ang—east, then east again. 

From criss-cross shoots of white rattan,  his book-basket was woven. 
Short bamboo-slips, all of a length,  like Buddhist texts. 
His flashing strength, his precious ore,  offered to Spring Officials. 
He skimmed the waves beneath the mist,  riding a single leaf.

The Spring Officials garner talent  wherever the white sun shines, 
But threw away this yellow gold, let slip this dragon-horse. 
So satchel in hand, he returned to the River, back through his gates,  
Weary and worn — yet who was there to give him sympathy? 

I hear a brave man always treasures his heart and his bones. 
Three times that ancient ran away, yet never lost his head.
I beg you now to wait till dawn before you ply your whip.
Your carriage will come back one day to the tune of autumn pipes.
<End Formatted Translation>