作者：岳  飞

              Yue Fei

              1103-1141

译者：徐忠杰

小 重 山

昨夜寒蛩不住鸣，惊回千里梦，已三更。起来独自绕阶行，人悄悄，帘外月胧明。

白首为功名，旧山松竹老，阻归程。欲将心事付瑶琴，知音少，弦断有谁听？

Xiaochongshan

Last night, autumn cicadas chirred and chirred.

It was there, when, out of dreamland, I stirred.

I got up, and round the yard I took a stroll.

The moon was bright: but abroad was not a soul.

My hair has become white from efforts strained –

To have deserving merits to be gained.

Remote are those days with my folks at home I spent.

Bamboos and pines there, must be gnarled and bent.

To my guitar, I was to commit my care.

But appreciate ears are always rare.

I could play like mad, till I broke all the strings.

But few are people who understand such things?

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