THE CICADA
The cicada transformed from the wronged Queen of Qi
Pours out her broken heart from year to year on the tree.
It sobs now on cold twig and now on darkened leaves;
Again and again
It laments her death and grieves.
When the west window’s swept by rain,
It sings in the air as her jasper pendant rings
Or her fair fingers play on zither’s strings.
No longer black is now her mirrored hair.
For whom should its wings still be black and fair?
The golden statue steeped in tears of lead[1]
Was carried far away with plate in days of old.
Where can the cicada find dew on which it fed?
Its sickly wings are afraid of autumn cold,
And its abandoned form has witnessed rise and fall.
How many sunsets can it still endure?
Its last song is saddest of all.
Why should it sing alone on high and pure
And suddenly appear,
So sad and drear?
Can it forget the summer breeze
When waved a thousand twigs of willow trees?
蟬
一襟余恨官魂斷,
年年翠陰庭樹。
乍咽涼柯,
還移暗葉,
重把離愁深訴。
西窗過雨,
怪瑤佩流空,
玉箏調(diào)柱。
鏡暗妝殘,
為誰嬌鬢尚如許?
銅仙鉛淚似洗,
嘆移盤去遠(yuǎn),
難貯零露。
病翼驚秋,
枯形閱世,
消得斜陽幾度?
余音更苦,
甚獨抱清霜,
頓成凄楚!
謾想薰風(fēng),
柳絲千萬縷。