对青山强整乌纱，

归雁横秋，

倦客思家。

翠袖殷勤，

金杯错落，

玉手琵琶。

人老去西风白发，

蝶愁来明日黄花。

回首天涯，

一抹斜阳，

数点寒鸦。



Tune: Plucking Laurel Branch

The Mountain-Climbing Day

Zhang Kejiu

Before blue hills I put down my official hat;

Returning wild geese fly across the autumn sky

How can a tired roamer not think of his own flat?

Though the rainbow-colored selves try

To fill my golden cup with wine,

And jade-like hands play on lute fine,

I’m growing old, my white hair wafts when west wind blows.

Tomorrow yellow blooms will sadden butterflies.

Looking back to the far-flung skies,

I find the setting sun in bloody dye,

Dotted with a few chilly crows.

（许渊冲 译）On Double Ninth Festival

To the Tune of Plucking Laurel

Zhang Kejiu

Straightening my official hat I face the green hills,

In the autumn sky I see a flight of geese.

In a strange land I’m homesick.

Dancing and graceful postures are slick,

Tired of gold plate with silver food,

And melody with its splendid music.

In the bleak west wind the grey hair is getting thinner,

After the Double Ninth Festival chrysanthemums are out of favour.

Gazing into the distant sky,

A ray of the setting sunshine,

And a few cold crows fly.