<Header>
<Author: 李白>
<Title: 戰城南>
<Format: 樂府詩>
<Year: 1922>
<BookName: THE WORKS OF LI PO>
<Translator: Shigeyoshi Obata>
<TranslatedTitle: The Nefarious War>
<BookPage: 141>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 1, 2, 3>
<End Header>
<Poem>
去年戰桑乾源，
今年戰蔥河道。
洗兵條支海上波，
放馬天山雪中草。
萬里長征戰，
三軍盡衰老。
匈奴以殺戮爲耕作，
古來唯見白骨黃沙田。
秦家築城避胡處，
漢家還有烽火然。
烽火然不息，
征戰無已時。
野戰格鬬死，
敗馬號鳴向天悲。
烏鳶啄人腸，
銜飛上挂枯樹枝。
士卒塗草莽，
將軍空爾爲。
乃知兵者是凶器，
聖人不得已而用之。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Last year we fought by the head-stream of the So-kan,
This year we are fighting on the Tsung-ho road.
We have washed our armor in the waves of the Chiao-
chi lake,
We have pastured our horses on Tien-shan's snowy 
slopes.
The long, long war goes on ten thousand miles from 
home,
Our three armies are worn and grown old.
The barbarian does man-slaughter for plowing;
On his yellow sand-plains nothing has been seen but
blanched skulls and bones.
Where the Chin emperor built the walls against the 
Tartars,
There the defenders of Han are burning beacon fires.
The beacon fires burn and never go out,
There is no end to war!—
In the battlefield men grapple each other and die;
The horses of the vanquished utter lamentable cries to 
heaven,
While ravens and kites peck at human entrails,
Carry them up in their flight, and hang them on the 
branches of dead trees.
So, men are scattered and smeared over the desert grass,
And the generals have accomplished nothing.
$(Oh, nefarious war!)$ 
0
I see why arms
Were so seldom used by the benign sovereigns.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Last year we fought 
by the head-stream of the So-kan,
This year we are fighting 
on the Tsung-ho road.
We have washed our armor in the waves of the Chiao-chi lake,
We have pastured our horses on Tien-shan's snowy slopes.
The long, long war goes on ten thousand miles from home,
Our three armies are worn and grown old.
The barbarian does man-slaughter for plowing;
On his yellow sand-plains nothing has been seen but blanched skulls and bones.
Where the Chin emperor built the walls against the Tartars,
There the defenders of Han are burning beacon fires.
The beacon fires burn and never go out,
There is no end to war!—
In the battlefield men grapple each other and die;
The horses of the vanquished utter lamentable cries to heaven,
While ravens and kites peck at human entrails,
Carry them up in their flight, and hang them on the branches of dead trees.
So, men are scattered and smeared over the desert grass,
And the generals have accomplished nothing.
$(Oh, nefarious war!)$ 
0
I see why arms Were so seldom used by the benign sovereigns.
<End Formatted Translation>