王维·《山中与裴秀才迪书》英译

近腊月下，景气和畅，故山殊可过。足下方温经，猥不敢相烦，辄便往山中，憩感配寺，与山僧饭讫而去。

北涉玄灞，清月映郭。夜登华子冈，辋水沦涟，与月上下。寒山远火，明灭林外。深巷寒犬，吠声如豹。村墟夜舂，复与疏钟相间。此时独坐，僮仆静默，多思曩昔，携手赋诗，步仄径，临清流也。

当待春中，草木蔓发，春山可望，轻鲦出水，白鸥矫翼，露湿青皋，麦陇朝雊，斯之不远，倘能从我游乎？非子天机清妙者，岂能以此不急之务相邀。然是中有深趣矣！无忽。因驮黄檗人往，不一，山中人王维白。<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /> 

An Invitation from a Mountain Resident

Letter to Pei Ti, B. A.

Dear Pei:

In this month of December, the weather has been very mild, and the old mountain is worth a visit. I knew you were immersed in your studies, and did not want to bother you. I may tell you what you missed: I often went into the mountains and stopped at Kanpei Temple where after a meal with the monk, I started off. I crossed the Pa [river] and saw the outer city wall sleep under the moonlight. At night, I went up the Huatsekang [hill]. The golden ripples of the Wang chased and floated with the moon, and on the distant mountainsides, some lights flickered beyond the forests. The sounds of dogs barking from some alley and of farmers pounding rice were punctuated with notes from the temple bells. By that time, the servants accompanying me had fallen asleep and paths or sat on the bank of a clear stream and wrote verse. Now I will wait till spring is here, when the green things will have returned and blue hills lie in the distance, minnows chase in the shallow waters and herons flap their wings. You will find pheasants flying in the morning among the wheat fields and dew on the green banks. This will be not so far away. Are you coming? I would not write of these things and invite you to come unless I knew you would appreciate them. But there is a deep, resuscitating joy in it. Don’t forget. I am sending this note by a woodcutter.

From a resident in the mountains,
Wang Wei