Song of Everlasting Regret
長恨歌 · Three Hundred Tang Poems
Song of Everlasting Regret
The Han emperor, obsessed with beauty, sought a nation-toppling beauty,
Yet for many years of his reign, he could not find one.
In the Yang household, a daughter had just grown up,
Raised in a deep boudoir, unknown to the world.
Heaven-born beauty could not be cast aside;
One morning she was chosen to stand by the king's side.
She turned her head and smiled—a hundred charms were born,
All painted faces of the six palaces lost their radiance.
In spring chill, she was granted a bath at Huaqing Pool,
Warm spring waters smooth, washing cream-like skin.
A handmaiden raised her, too languid to stand—
This was the first time she received the sovereign's grace.
Cloud-like tresses, flowery face, a golden headdress swaying,
In a lotus curtain's warmth she passed the spring night.
But spring nights are too short; the sun rose high—
From then on the king held no early court.
She shared his joy, attended his feasts without a moment's leisure,
Spring outings in spring, nights devoted to nights alone.
The palace had three thousand beauties,
Yet all three thousand favors rested on one alone.
In the golden chamber she adorned herself, serving the nights,
At jade tower banquets she departed, drunk with spring.
Her sisters and brothers all received fiefs and titles,
And how pitiful—the splendor shone upon their gate.
This turned the hearts of parents everywhere:
They wished not for sons, but for daughters.
High in the Lishan Palace she rose into blue clouds,
Immortal music drifted on the wind, heard everywhere.
Slow songs and lingering dance, accompanied by strings and bamboo—
All day the king could never watch enough.
Then war drums from Yuyang shook the earth,
Shattering the "Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Coat" dance.
Above the ninefold palace walls, dust of war arose;
Ten thousand chariots and riders journeyed southwest.
The royal banners swayed, advanced, then halted again;
They had gone a hundred leagues beyond the western capital gate.
The six armies would not march—what could be done?
The delicate brows were twisted, and she died before the horses.
Her jeweled hair-ornament fell to the ground, none gathered it,
The kingfisher pin, the golden spade, the jade hairpick.
The king covered his face—he could not save her;
He turned back to look, and blood and tears flowed mingled together.
Yellow dust spread thin, the wind was cold;
Cloud-laced plank roads wound upward to the Sword Tower.
Below Mount Emei few travelers passed,
The banners were colorless, the sun's light thin.
The Shu River's waters were green, the Shu Mountains blue—
The sovereign lord felt this love morning and evening.
In the traveling palace, the moon's color wounded his heart;
In night rain, the sound of bells broke his intestines.
Heaven and earth turned, the dragon carriage returned,
Yet here he lingered, unable to depart.
Below Mawei Slope, in the mud and dust,
Her fair face was nowhere to be seen—only the place of her death.
Lord and ministers looked at each other, wet their garments with tears,
Then eastward gazed toward the capital gate and let the horses carry them home.
He returned—the pools and gardens were all as before,
The lotus of Taiye Lake, the willows of Weiyang Palace.
The lotus was like her face, the willows like her brows—
Faced with this, how could tears not fall?
Spring winds, peach and blossoms, the night they opened,
Autumn rains, paulownia leaves, the hour they fell.
The western palace and southern gardens were overgrown with autumn grass,
Fallen leaves covered the steps, red, unswept.
The Pear Garden disciples' hair had grown white,
The palace eunuchs' youthful faces had grown old.
In the evening hall, fireflies flew—his thoughts were deep and still;
The lone lamp burned low, yet sleep would not come.
Slowly the night watch drums began the long night,
The shining River of Stars heralded the dawn.
Mandarin duck tiles grew cold, the frost heavy;
The kingfisher quilt was cold—who would share it with him?
Life and death had parted for many years,
Yet her spirit never once came to enter his dreams.
A Daoist priest of Linqiong, a guest of the Hongdu quarter,
Could summon souls with the power of his sincere devotion.
Moved by the king's restless, turning thoughts,
He sent the priest to search with earnest effort.
He drove the air and rode the qi, swift as lightning,
Ascending to heaven and descending to earth, seeking her everywhere.
He searched the blue heights above and the yellow springs below—
Both places were vast and empty; nowhere could she be found.
Then suddenly he heard: there was a fairy mountain on the sea,
The mountain lay among the shimmering mists of nothingness.
Pavilions and halls rose gracefully amid five-colored clouds,
And among them, graceful and lovely, were many fairy maidens.
One among them was named Taizhen,
With snow-like skin and flowery face—it seemed to be her.
At the western gate of the golden palace he knocked on the jade door;
She sent Xiao Yu to report to Shuangcheng.
She had heard that an envoy from the Son of Heaven of Han had come—
Startled from her dream within the nine-flowered curtain.
She gathered her robe, pushed aside the pillow, rose and paced,
Pearl blinds and silver screens opened one after another.
Her cloud-like tresses half askew, newly risen from sleep,
Her floral crown not set, she descended the hall.
The wind lifted her fairy sleeves, floating and rising,
Still resembling the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Coat dance.
Her jade face was lonely, tears streaming down,
Like a single branch of pear blossoms touched by spring rain.
With deep emotion, she gazed and thanked the king:
Since their parting, voice and face had both grown dim and distant.
In Zhaoyang Palace, love and grace were cut short;
In Penglai Palace, the days and months were long.
She turned her head and looked down toward the world of men—
She could not see Chang'an, only dust and mist.
She would offer only an old token of deep feeling,
Sending back the jeweled hairpin and the gold hairpin.
She kept one branch and one half of the pin,
Breaking the gold of the pin, dividing the jewelry of the hairpin.
But let their hearts be firm as gold and jeweled—
In heaven and on earth, they would meet again.
At parting, she earnestly repeated her words,
And in her words was a vow known to both hearts:
"On the seventh night of the seventh month, in the Palace of Long Life,
In the middle of the night, when no one was near, we whispered:
'In heaven, may we be birds flying with shared wings;
On earth, may we be branches twined together.'
Heaven and earth, long as they last, will one day end—
But this regret will stretch on and on, never ceasing."
長恨歌
漢皇一作「王」重色思傾國，御㝢一作「宇」多年求不得。
楊家有女初長成，養在深閨一作「窻」人未一作「不」識。
天生麗質難自棄，一朝選在君王側。
迴眸一作「頭」一笑百媚生，六宮粉黛無顔色。
春寒賜浴華清池，溫泉水滑洗凝脂。
侍兒扶起嬌無力，始是新承恩澤時。
雲鬢花顔一作「冠」金步摇，芙蓉帳暖度一作「裏暖」春宵。
春宵苦短日高起，從此君王不早朝。
承歡侍宴一作「寢」無閑一作「容」暇，春從春遊夜專夜。
後一作「漢」宮佳麗三千人，三千寵愛在一身。
金屋粧一作「妝」成嬌侍一作「待」夜，玉樓宴罷醉和春。
姊妹弟兄一作「姐妹兄弟」皆列土，可憐光彩生門戶。
遂令天下父母心，不重生男重生女。
驪宮高處入青雲，仙樂風飄處處聞。
緩歌慢舞凝絲竹，盡日君王看一作「聽」不足。
漁陽鞞鼓動地來，驚破霓裳羽衣曲。
九重城闕煙塵生，千乘萬騎西南行。
翠華一作「华」摇摇行復止，西出都門百餘里。
六軍不發無一作「知」奈何，宛轉娥一作「蛾」眉馬前死。
花鈿委地無人收，翠翹金雀玉搔頭。
君王掩面一作「眼」救不得，迴看一作「首」血淚一作「淚血」相和流。
黃埃散漫風蕭索，雲棧縈紆一作「迴」登劍閣一作「閤」。
峨一作「蛾」嵋山下一作「上」少人行一作「行人」，旌旗無光日色薄。
蜀江水碧蜀山青，聖主朝朝暮暮情。
行宮見月傷心色，夜雨聞鈴一作「猿」腸斷聲。
天旋日一作「地」轉迴龍馭，到此躊躇不能去。
馬嵬坡下泥一作「塵」土中，不見玉顔空死處。
君臣相顧盡霑衣，東望都門信馬歸。
歸來池苑皆依舊，太液芙蓉未央柳。
芙蓉如面柳如眉，對此如何不淚垂。
春風桃李花開夜一作「日」，秋雨梧桐葉落時。
西宮南苑一作「内」多秋草，宮一作「落」葉滿階紅不掃。
梨園弟子白髮新，椒房阿監青娥老。
夕殿螢飛思悄然，孤一作「秋」燈挑盡未成一作「能」眠。
遲遲鐘鼓一作「漏」初長夜，耿耿星河欲曙天。
鴛鴦瓦冷霜華重，翡翠衾寒一作「舊枕故衾」誰與共。
悠悠生死別經年，魂魄不曾來入夢。
臨邛道一作「方」士鴻都客，能以精誠致魂魄。
為感君王輾轉思一作「展轉恩」，遂教方士殷勤覓。
排空一作「雲」馭氣奔如電，昇天入地求之遍。
上窮碧落下黃泉，兩處茫茫皆不見。
忽聞海上有仙山，山在虛無縹緲間。
樓閣一作「殿」玲瓏五雲起，其中一作「上」，又作「間」綽約多仙子。
中有一人字太真一作「字玉真」，又作「名玉妃」，雪膚花貌參差是。
金闕西一作「兩」廂叩玉扃，轉教小玉報雙成。
聞道漢家天子使，九華帳裏一作「下」夢魂一作「中」驚。
攬衣推枕起徘徊，珠箔銀屏一作「鉤」邐迤一作「迤邐」開。
雲鬢一作「髻」，又作「鬟」半偏新睡覺，花冠不整下堂來。
風吹仙袂飄颻一作「飄飄」舉，猶似霓裳羽衣舞。
玉容寂寞淚闌干，梨花一枝春帶雨。
含情凝睇一作「涕」謝君王，一別音容兩渺茫。
昭陽殿裏恩愛絶一作「歇」，蓬萊宮中日月長。
迴頭下望一作「視」，又作「問」人寰處，不見長安見塵霧。
唯將一作「空持」舊物表深情，鈿合金釵寄將去。
釵留一股一作「鈷」合一扇，釵擘黃金合分鈿。
但令一作「教」心似金鈿堅，天上人間會相見。
臨別殷勤重寄詞，詞中有誓兩心知。
七月七日長生殿，夜半無人私語時。
在天願作一作「為」比翼鳥，在地願為連理枝。
天長地久有時盡，此恨緜緜無絶一作「盡」期。