In Chang'an city is the disk of the moon,
The sound of pounding clothes in ten thousand households.
The autumn wind is blowing without cease,
All the time I think of Yuguan pass.
When will we pacify the pillaging Hu,
So my husband can end his long journey?
Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,—
The years that Time take off my life,
He'll take from off the other end!
It's midnight, the house silent,
in the distance a musical instrument
being played softly. I am alone.
It's as if the world has come to an end
on a low musical note
Midfield,
attached to nothing,
the skylark singing.
Translated by Robert Hass
Little cullud Rastus come a-skippin’ down de street,
A-smilin’ and a-grinnin’ at every one he meet;
My, oh! He was happy! Boy, but was he gay!
Wishin’ 'Merry Chris’mus' an’ 'Happy New-Year’s Day'!
Wishin’ that his wishes might every one come true—
And—bless your dear heart, honey,—I wish the same to you!
Et Mindeblad — det Sted, Du har beæret,
Har Sort paa Hvidt for, at Du der har været.
Uden Devise og uden Fraser
Komme til Dig to smaabitte Vaser.
Slaa Du med Aand og Tale,
Som han med Hamren slaaer!
Dit Navn da i Stændersale
Hugget for Slægter staaer.
Sicilien er Skjønheds Hjem,
Det siger man med Rette;
Dog er — det tør jeg sige frem -
Her paa vor egen Slette
Een Ting meer skjøn; men hvilken? hvem?
Ja, det maa selv De gjætte!
Her er Papir til mange Breve.
Gid Du og de maae længe leve!
