<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 廢琴>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1919>
<BookName: Translation from the Chinese>
<Translator: Arthur Waley>
<TranslatedTitle: The Old Harp>
<BookPage: 171>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
絲桐合爲琴，
中有太古聲。
古聲澹無味，
不稱今人情。
玉徽光彩滅，
朱弦塵土生。
廢棄來已久，
遺音尚泠泠。
不辭爲君彈，
縱彈人不聽。
何物使之然，
羌笛與秦箏。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Of cord and cassia-wood is the harp compounded:
Within it lie ancient melodies.
Ancient melodies—weak and savourless,
Not appealing to present men's taste.
Light and colour are faded from the jade stops:
Dust has covered the rose-red strings.
Decay and ruin came to it long ago,
But the sound that is left is still cold and clear.
I do not refuse to play it, if you want me to:
But even if I play, people will not listen.
How did it come to be neglected so?
Because of the Ch'iang flute and the Ch'in flageolet.
<End Translation>