151哀江头

A Lament at the Riverside An old rustic from Shaoling weeps, swallowing back the sound, on a spring day he walks unseen by the Twisting River’s bends. The palace halls beside the river have their thousand gates locked, for whom do fine willow fronds[1] and new reed shoots turn green? I recall in the past the rainbow banners coming down to the Southern Park, and in the park all the myriad things took on a bright complexion. She who was foremost in the halls of the Palace of Shining Light, went with her lord in the same palanquin[2], attending at his side. Before the palanquin palace ladies carried bows and arrows, white horses chewed and gnawed[3] at the bits of yellow gold. They bent their bodies, faced the heavens, shot upward into the clouds and one arrow brought tumbling down a pair of flying wings. Those bright eyes and gleaming teeth—where are they now?— blood stains her wandering soul, she cannot get to return. The clear Wei flows eastward, Sword Tower Mountain is far removed, one went and another stayed, and there is no news. Whoever has human feeling tears will soak his chest, the river plants and river flowers will go on forever. The dust from Hu horsemen fills the city at dusk, and about to go off to South of the City, I gaze to the city’s north. 单词释义 [1] frond [frɒnd] n. (尤指棕榈类或蕨类的) 叶; [2] palanquin n. 轿子; 花轿; [3] gnaw [nɔː] v. 咬; 啃; 啮;