<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 渭上偶釣>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1919>
<BookName: Translation from the Chinese>
<Translator: Arthur Waley>
<TranslatedTitle: Fishing in the Wei River>
<BookPage: 160>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
渭水如鏡色，
中有鯉與魴。
偶持一竿竹，
懸釣在其傍。
微風吹釣絲，
嫋嫋十尺長。
誰知對魚坐，
心在無何鄉。
昔有白頭人，
亦釣此渭陽。
釣人不釣魚，
七十得文王。
況我垂釣意，
人魚又兼忘。
無機兩不得，
但弄秋水光。
興盡釣亦罷，
歸來飲我觴。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
In waters still as a burnished mirror's face,
In the depths of Wei, carp and grayling swim.
Idly I come with my bamboo fishing-rod
And hang my hook by the banks of Wei stream.
A gentle wind blows on my fishing-gear
Softly shaking my ten feet of line.
Though my body sits waiting for fish to come,
My heart has wandered to the Land of Nothingness.
Long ago a white-headed man
Also fished at the same river's side;
A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish,
At seventy years, he caught Wen Wang
But I, when I come to cast my hook in the stream,
Have no thought either of fish or men.
Lacking the skill to capture either prey,
I can only bask in the autumn water's light.
When I tire of this, my fishing also stops;
I go to my home and drink my cup of wine.
<End Translation>