<Header>
<Author: 李賀>
<Title: 平城下>
<Format: 格式不明>
<Year: 1970>
<BookName: The Poems of Li Ho>
<Translator: J. D. Frodsham>
<TranslatedTitle: Down in P‘ing-Ch‘eng>
<BookPage: 197>
<UsedPage: 1>
<Feature: 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
飢寒平城下，
夜夜守明月。
別劒無玉花，
海風斷鬢髮。
塞長連白空，
遙見漢旗紅。
青帳吹短笛，
煙霧溼晝龍。
日晚在城上，
依稀望城下。
風吹枯蓬起，
城中嘶瘦馬。
借問築城吏，
去關幾千里。
惟愁裹屍歸，
不惜倒戈死。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
HUNGRY and cold we stand here in P'ing-ch'eng,
Night after night, on guard by the shining moon.
Our keen-edged swords have lost their flowers of jade,
Our hair is falling out in the Gobi wind.
Where endless desert merges with white sky,
We see, far-off, red banners of the Han.
They sit and play short flutes in their green tents,
Mist soaks the painted dragons on their flags.
We climb up on the walls as dusk is falling—
Is something moving out there in the gloom?
A wind is blowing, stirring the dead weeds,
Our half-starved horses whinny in their stalls.
We'd like to ask the brass who built this place
Just how many thousand miles from the Pass we are.
We're sick of seeing men sent home dead in bundles,
Better die in battle and be planted under a lance.
<End Translation>