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小桥外、
新绿溅溅。
凭栏久，
黄芦苦竹，
疑泛九江船。
年年，
如社燕，
飘流瀚海，
来寄修椽。
且莫思身外，
长近尊前。
憔悴江南倦客，
不堪听急管繁弦。
歌筵畔，
先安簟枕，
容我醉时眠。
Courtyard Full of Fragrance
Zhou Bangyan
In balmy breeze
Fledged orioles in flight,
In gentle rain
The mumes are filling out.
At noon the rounded shadows of the stately trees
Are pools of cool delight.
Low is the plain
With hills about.
The clothes damp need incense smoke to make them dry.
It’s so reposeful that e’er crows won’t fly.
Beyond the little bridge green water sings its song.
Leaning on rails for long,
I seem to see that exiled poet who
Was fenced in by a tangle of weeds and bamboo.
From year to year
I’m like a swallow swift that leaves
For northern sea and wanders there and here,
But glad to come back under the same old eaves.
Well, why waste thoughts on downs and ups?
Just drink the ever-brimming cups!
For weary southerner with thoughts homebound,
E’en merry flutes and strings would hollow sound.
Beside the banquet table spread
Put mat and pillow on a bed
Where, drunken, I may rest my head!
（许渊冲 译）
Man Ting Fang
– Written at Mount Wuxiang, Lishui.
Zhou Bangyan
The sucking oriole matures in winds,
The green plums ripen in rains.
The tree cast clear noontime shadows round.
Since in the deep vale and wet stands my house,
I often with incense smoke my moist dress.
The crows are merry when human voice subsides,
Beyond the little bridge the spring flood a rippling music plays.
Here yellow reed and bitter bamboo grow,
A scene that tempts me to sail into River Pen.
As the swallow crosses the great sea
Only a perch to find on the long beam,
Even son, alas, wander my life’s recent years.
An emaciate figure roaming in the river’s south,
Nor the flute’s sweet music can I bear
Nor the lyre’s sad melody.
To the superfluous acquisitions give no thought,
The overflowing cup fore’er be my friend.
In the banquet hall wherein merry songs resound
Pray set for me a couch first
Whereupon drunken I may lie.
（黄宏荃 译）
To the Tune of Man-t’ing fang
Written on a Summer Day on No-thought Hill in Li Shui
Chou Pang-yen
Wind has matured the infant oriole
Rain fattened plums
At noon the shade of trees is true and round
On low ground near the hills
Damp clothes need incense smoke to dry
Quietly, I watch birds frolic,
Beyond the little bridge, new green splashes
I linger against the rail,
Yellow reeds, Bitter Bamboo–
Would I could drift in the boat od Chiu-chiang
Year in year out, like the punctual swallow
I go back and forth over the vast desert
Lodging on long rafters–
Why look beyond the moment?
I’ll keep close to the wine.
Wretched, spent, a stranger from the south,
I hate the sound of the fast pipes and jumbled strings,
Wide of both feast and song
I’ll spread my mat and pillow
Then I can sleep, when drunk
（Julie Landau 译）
Man-t’ing Fang
– Written on a summer’s day at Thought-free Hill in Li-shui
Chou Pang-yen
The wind has aged young orioles,
The rain fattened baby plums,
The noontide shades of fine trees are clear and round.
On these lowlands near the hill,
Clothes are damp and need to be dried with incense smoke.
People being quiet, the kites enjoy themselves.
Beyond the little bridge, the fresh green water splutters on.
Leaning on the rails for a long time,
Amid yellow reeds and bitter bamboos,
I wish to sail down to Chiu-chiang.
Year after year,
Like the seasonal swallow
Drifting over the great desert
And coming to lodge on the long rafters!
Let me not think of what lies beyond me,
But always stay close to the wine jar!
A haggard, weary traveler south of the River
Cannot bear to hear fast pipes and numerous strings!
By the place of singing and feasting,
First lay down the mattress and pillow,
That I may seep after getting drunk!
（James J. Y. Liu 译）
