<Header>
<Author: 李賀>
<Title: 長平箭頭歌>
<Format: 樂府詩>
<Year: 1970>
<BookName: The Poems of Li Ho>
<Translator: J. D. Frodsham>
<TranslatedTitle: Song of an Arrowhead from Ch‘ang-p‘ing>
<BookPage: 228-229>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
漆灰骨末丹水沙，
淒淒古血生銅花。
白翎金簳雨中盡，
直餘三脊殘狼牙。
我尋平原乘兩馬，
驛東石田蒿塢下。
風長日短星蕭蕭，
黑旗雲溼懸空夜。
左魂右魄啼肌瘦，
酪瓶倒盡將羊炙。
蟲棲雁病蘆筍紅，
迴風送客吹陰火。
訪古汍瀾收斷鏃，
折鋒赤璺曾刲肉。
南陌東城馬上兒，
勸我將金換簝竹。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
FLAKES of lacquer, dust of bones, Red cinnabar,
The ancient blood once spurted forth And bore bronze flowers.
White feathers and its metal stem Have rotted in the rain.
Only the three spines still remain, Broken teeth of a wolf.
I searched this plain of battle With a pair of nags,
In stony fields cast of the post-station. On a weed-grown hill.
An endless wind, the day short, Desolate stars,
Black banners of damp clouds Hung in void-night.
Souls to the left, spirits to the right,
Gaunt with hunger, wailing.
I poured curds from my tiled flask.
Offered roast mutton.
Insects silent, the wild geese sick,
Reed shoots reddening.
A whirlwind came to see me off,
Blowing the ghost-fires.

In tears I sought this ancient field.
Picked up a broken arrow,
Its shattered point, scarlet and cracked,
Once drove through flesh.
In South Street, by the eastern wall,
A lad on horseback,
Urged me to exchange the metal
For a votive-basket.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
FLAKES of lacquer, dust of bones, red cinnabar,
The ancient blood once spurted forth and bore bronze flowers.
White feathers and its metal stem have rotted in the rain.
Only the three spines still remain, broken teeth of a wolf.

I searched this plain of battle with a pair of nags,
In stony fields cast of the post-station. On a weed-grown hill.
An endless wind, the day short, desolate stars,
Black banners of damp clouds hung in void-night.
Souls to the left, spirits to the right, gaunt with hunger, wailing.
I poured curds from my tiled flask. Offered roast mutton.
Insects silent, the wild geese sick, reed shoots reddening.
A whirlwind came to see me off, blowing the ghost-fires.

In tears I sought this ancient field. Picked up a broken arrow,
Its shattered point, scarlet and cracked, once drove through flesh.
In South Street, by the eastern wall, a lad on horseback,
Urged me to exchange the metal for a votive-basket.
<End Formatted Translation>