<Header>
<Author: 李白>
<Title: 擬古十二首 九>
<Format: 五言古詩>
<Year: 1938>
<BookName: A GARDEN OF PEONIES>
<Translator: Hart& Henry Hersch>
<TranslatedTitle: TO WHAT END?>
<BookPage: 50-51>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2, 3>
<End Header>
<Poem>
生者為過客，
死者為歸人。
天地一逆旅，
同悲萬古塵。
月兔空搗藥，
扶桑已成薪。
白骨寂無言，
青松豈知春。
前後更嘆息，
浮榮安足珍。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
The living
Are but passing travelers;
The dead
Are those
Who have reached their home
At last. 

The world
Is but an inn,
And we,
The countless generations
Of mankind,
Must all return again
To the sad dust. 

The hare
In the moon
Pounds his elixirs
In vain;
And the fu sang tree,
$(Whose fruit)$
$(Once rendered men immortal,)$
Has long since been cut
And burned for firewood. 

Man's white bones sleep.
No word do they utter
Nor do they know
As does the green-clad pine,
When spring has come. 

If I look behind me
Or before,
0
What is there
Worth holding precious
In the empty honors
Of this sad fleeting world?
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
The living Are but passing travelers;
The dead Are those Who have reached their home At last. 
The world Is but an inn,
And we, The countless generations Of mankind, Must all return again To the sad dust. 
The hare In the moon Pounds his elixirs In vain;
And the fu sang tree, $(Whose fruit Once rendered men immortal,)$ Has long since been cut And burned for firewood. 
Man's white bones sleep. No word do they utter
Nor do they know As does the green-clad pine, When spring has come. 
If I look behind me Or before, 0
What is there Worth holding precious In the empty honors Of this sad fleeting world?
<End Formatted Translation>