茅屋为秋风所破歌 甫八月秋深，狂风怒号，风卷走了我屋顶上好几层茅草。茅草乱飞，渡过浣花溪，散落在对岸江边。飞得高的茅草缠绕在高高的树梢上，飞得低的飘飘洒洒沉落到池塘和洼地里。 南村的一群儿童欺负我年老没力气，居然狠心这样当面作贼抢东西，毫无顾忌地抱着茅草跑进竹林去了。我喊得唇焦口燥也没有用，只好回来，拄着拐杖，自己叹息。 一会儿风停了，天空中乌云黑得像墨，深秋天色灰蒙蒙的，渐渐黑下来。布被盖了多年，又冷又硬，像铁板似的。孩子睡相不好，把被里蹬破了。一下屋顶漏雨，连床头都没有一点干的地。象线条一样一串串密密连接着的雨点下个没完。自从安史之乱之后，我睡眠的时间很少，长夜漫漫，屋漏床湿，如挨到天亮。 怎么才能得到千万间宽敞高大的房子，普遍地庇覆天下间贫寒的读书人，让他们开颜欢笑，房子在风雨中也不为所动，安稳得像是山一样。唉！什么时候眼前出现这样高耸的房屋，即使我的茅屋被秋风所吹破，我自己受冻而死也心甘情愿 ！In the eighth moon the autumn gales furiously howl;They roll up three layers of straw from my thatched bower.The straw flies across the river and spreads in shower,Some hanging knotted on the tops of trees that tower,Some swirling down and sinking into water foul. Urchins from Southern Village know I'm old and weak;They rob me to my face without a blush on cheekAnd holding armfuls of straw, into bamboos sneak.In vain I call them till my lips are parched and dry;Again alone, I lean on my cane and sigh. Shortly the gale subsides and clouds turn dark as ink;The autumn skies are shrouded and in darkness sink.My cotton quilt is cold; for years it has been worn;My restless children |
