老还东观复怀铅,坐对秋风鬓飒然。
怨曲未平曾破瑟,故疮虽愈尚惊弦。
萧条门巷张罗外,閴寂曹司搁笔前。
借问不才为累否,古来山水尽天年。
老还东观复怀铅,坐对秋风鬓飒然。
怨曲未平曾破瑟,故疮虽愈尚惊弦。
萧条门巷张罗外,閴寂曹司搁笔前。
借问不才为累否,古来山水尽天年。
年老时,我回到东观,心中依然萦绕着著书的念头;
独坐面对秋风,鬓发在风中飒飒作响,已然斑白。
心中哀怨的曲调尚未平息,它曾让我弹断了瑟弦;
旧日的创伤虽然愈合,但听到弓弦声依然会心惊。
我的门庭冷落,无人拜访,罗网高悬门外;
官署寂静,在搁笔不写公文之前,一片阒寂。
试问,我这般不才,是否成了人生的负累?
自古以来,寄情山水的人都能安享天年。
Old, I return to the Eastern Library, my mind still filled with scholarly thoughts;
Sitting facing the autumn wind, my temples rustle and turn white.
The plaintive tune, still unresolved, once broke the strings of my lute;
Though the old wound has healed, the twang of a bowstring still startles me.
Desolate, outside my gate, the net for catching visitors hangs unused;
Silent, before my desk in the quiet office, the writing brush lies untouched.
I ask: does my lack of talent bring me trouble?
Since ancient times, those who dwell among mountains and waters live out their natural span.
在生命周期的尾声,以校书治理完成精神回归。
年老归返东观校书,面对秋风鬓发萧然,心境恬淡。
本诗为七言律诗,押平声韵。
东山书院编辑整理