文赋·寄兴
陆机
伊兹事之可乐，固圣贤之所钦。课虚无以责有，叩寂寞而求音。函绵邈於尺素，吐滂沛乎寸心。言恢之而弥广，思按之而逾深。播芳蕤之馥馥，发青条之森森。粲风飞而猋竖，郁云起乎翰林。
The Satisfaction
The pleasure a writer knows
is the pleasure of sages.
Out of non-being, being is born;
out of silence,
a writer produces a song.
In one yard of silk, there is infinite space;
language is a deluge
from one small corner of the heart.
The net of images is cast wider
and wider; thought searches
more and more deeply.
The writer offers
the fragrance of fresh flowers,
an abundance of sprouting buds.
Bright winds lift each metaphor;
clouds lift
from a forest of writing brushes.
（Sam Hamill 译）
