喜初晴, 晚霞西现, 寒山烟外青浅。 苔纹干处容香履, 尖印紫泥犹软。 人语乱, 忙去倚、 柴扉空负深深愿。 相思一线, 向新月搓圆; 穿愁贯恨, 珠泪总成串。
黄昏后, 残热犹怜细喘。 小窗风射如箭。 春红秋白无情艳, 一朵似侬难选。 重见远, 听说道, 伤心已受殷勤饯。 斜阳刺眼, 休更望天涯, 天涯只是, 几片冷云展。
Mo yu’r: Thanking
the Neighbor Girl Han Xi for Her Gift of Food He
Shuangqing
Cheered
by the end of the rains, The
evening clouds in the west appear; Beyond
the haze the chilly mountains look light blue. Where
strips of moss are dry, fragrant shoes can tread. Sharp
prints stay on the purplish mud still soft. Clamor
of people’s voices: I
rush to go lean on the brushwood door vainly harboring deep deep desire. My
thoughts of you are all one strand Spun
from the new moon to the full, Threaded
with grief, strung with remorse, pearls
of tears enough for one whole string.
After
dusk, still warm and damp, Who
will sustain my struggle to breathe? Through
the small window the wind shoots in like an arrow; Springtime
red, autumn white, heartless beauty; Difficult
to pick a bud like me. Our
next meeting is so far off. I
hear the heartbroken one Has
already received her lavish feast. The
sunset hurts the eyes; Don’t
look to the horizon, The
horizon only shows a few cold clouds drifting apart.
(Grace S. Fong 译) |
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