陆机·《文赋·寄兴》英译

伊兹事之可乐，固圣贤之所钦。课虚无以责有，叩寂寞而求音。函绵邈於尺素，吐滂沛乎寸心。言恢之而弥广，思按之而逾深。播芳蕤之馥馥，发青条之森森。粲风飞而猋竖，郁云起乎翰林。

The Satisfaction

The pleasure a writer knows

is the pleasure of sages.

Out of non-being, being is born;

       out of silence,

       a writer produces a song.

In one yard of silk, there is infinite space;

       language is a deluge

       from one small corner of the heart.

The net of images is cast wider

       and wider; thought searches

       more and more deeply.

The writer offers

       the fragrance of fresh flowers,

       an abundance of sprouting buds.

Bright winds lift each metaphor;

       clouds lift

       from a forest of writing brushes.

（Sam Hamill 译）