<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 贈寫真者>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1919>
<BookName: Translation from the Chinese>
<Translator: Arthur Waley>
<TranslatedTitle: To a Portrait Painter who desired Him to Sit>
<BookPage: 207>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
子騁丹青日，
予當醜老時。
無勞役神思，
更畫病容儀。
迢遞麒麟閣，
圖功未有期。
區區尺素上，
焉用寫真爲。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
You, so bravely splashing reds and blues!
Just when I am getting wrinkled and old.
Why should you waste the moments of inspiration
Tracing the withered limbs of a sick man?
Tall, tall is the Palace of Ch'i-lin;
But my deeds have not been frescoed on its walls.
Minutely limn d on a foot of painting silk－
What can I do with a portrait such as that?
<End Translation>