Come live with me and be my love 来，与我同住，做我的爱人
?And we will all pleasures prove 我们将证实所有的欢乐
That valleys, groves, hills, fields 冈峦丛林，溪谷田野
Woods, or steepy mountain yields 和危岩峭壁的群山所滋生的
And we will sit upon the rocks 我们将并肩坐在那山石上
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 看牧童喂他的羊群
?By shallow rivers to whose falls 在浅流小溪旁，与流水相抑扬
Melodious birds sing madrigals 悦耳的小鸟齐声鸣唱情歌
And I will make thee a bed of roses 在那里我要为你砌玫瑰花床
And a thousand fragrant poises 和无数芳香馥郁的花束
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 制一顶饰有花朵的帽子，一件短裙
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle 每一处都绣满爱神木的叶子
A gown made of the finest wool 一件上好羊毛织成的长袍
Which from our pretty lambs we pull 从我们漂亮的小羊身上采下
Fair lined slippers for the cold 寒冬时为你送上里衬舒适的拖鞋
With buckles of the purest gold 缝上纯金制成的扣结
A belt of the straw and ivy buds 麦秆与长青藤做你的腰带
With coral clasps and amber studs 珊瑚为钩， 琥珀为钮
If these pleasures may thee move 倘使这些欢乐打动了你
Come live with me and be my love 来， 与我同住， 做我的爱人
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing 牧童要成群为你歌舞
For thy delight each May morning 在每个五月的清晨为了使你愉悦
If these delights thy mind may move 倘使这些欢乐令你动心
Then come live with me and be my love 来， 与我同住， 做我的爱人
shakespeare's sonnet 18----He has a profound meditation on the destructive power of time and the eternal beauty brought forth by poetry to the one he loves. A nice summer’s day is usually transient, but the beauty in poetry can last for ever. Thus Shakespeare has a faith in the permanence of poetry.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
THE SUN
RISING. by John Donne
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the
rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th'
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here
with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed
lay."
She's all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun,
art half as happy as we,
In that the
world's contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy
duties be
To warm the world,
that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere
日出
忙碌的老傻瓜，任性的太阳，
为什么你要穿过窗棂，
透过窗帘前来招呼我们？
难道情人的季节也得有你一样的转向？
莽撞迂腐的东西，你去斥骂
上学迟到的孩童，怨尤的学徒，
去通知宫廷的猎人，国王要起驾，
吩咐乡下的蚂蚁完成收割人的劳作；
爱情呀，始终如一，不使节气的变换，
更不懂钟点、日子和月份这些时间的碎片。
为什么你竟然会自认
你的光线如此可畏和强壮？
我只须一眨跟，你便会黯然无光，
但我不愿她的倩影消失隐遁：
倘若她的明眸还没使你目盲，
好好瞧瞧．明天迟些再告诉我，
盛产金银香料的东西印度
在你今天离开的地方，还是躺在我身旁，
去问一下你昨天看到的所有帝王，
那答案准保都将是“全在这一张床上”。
她便是一切国家，我是君主的君主．
其余的便什么都不是。
君主们不过摹仿着我们；与此相比，
一切荣誉是丑角，一切财富是骗局。
你，太阳，只拥有我们一半欢乐，
当宇宙在这样一个世界里聚拢；
你的年龄需要悠闲；既然你的职责
便是温暖世界，你己对我们尽了本份。
你只须照耀我们这儿．光芒就会遍及四方，
这张床是你的中心，墙壁是你的穹苍。
Death be not proud ----John Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate
men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; ?why swell'st thou then
?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; ?Death, thou shalt die.
墓地哀歌
elegy written in a country churchyard
the curfew tolls the knell of parting day
the lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea
the ploughman homeword plods his wery way
and leaves the world to darkness and to me
?
now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight
and all the air a solemn stillness holds
save where the beetle wheels his droning flight
and drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds
?
save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
the moping owl does to the moon complain
of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r
molest her ancient solitary reign
?
beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade
where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap
each in his narrow cell forever laid
the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep
?
the breezy call of incense-brathing morn
the swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed
the cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing? horn
no more shall rouse them from their lowly bed
?
for them no more the? blazing hearth shall burn
or busy housewife ply her evening care
no children run tu lips their sire's return
or climb his knees the envided kiss to share
oft did the harvest ti their sickle yield
their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has brocke
how jocund did they drive their team afield!
how bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave
晚钟响起来一阵阵给白昼报丧，
牛群在草原上迂回，吼声起落，
耕地人累了，回家走，脚步踉跄，
把整个世界留给了黄昏与我。
苍茫的景色逐渐从眼前消退，
一片肃穆的寂静盖遍了尘寰，
只听见嗡嗡的甲虫转圈子纷飞，
昏沉的铃声催眠着远处的羊栏。
只听见常春藤披裹的塔顶底下
一只阴郁的柢枭向月亮诉苦，
怪人家无端走进它秘密的住家，
搅扰它这个悠久而僻静的领土。
峥嵘的榆树底下，扁柏的荫里，
草皮鼓起了许多零落的荒堆，
各自在洞窟里永远放下了身体，
小村里粗鄙的父老在那里安睡。
香气四溢的晨风轻松的呼召，
燕子从茅草棚子里吐出的呢喃，
公鸡的尖喇叭，使山鸣谷应的猎号
再不能唤醒他们在地下的长眠。
在他们，熊熊的炉火不再会燃烧，
忙碌的管家妇不再会赶她的夜活；
孩子们不再会“牙牙”的报父亲来到，
为一个亲吻爬倒他膝上去争夺。
往常是：他们一开镰就所向披靡，
顽梗的泥板让他们犁出了垄沟；
他们多么欢欣地赶牲口下地！
他们一猛砍，树木就一棵棵低头！
“雄心”别嘲讽他们实用的操劳，
家常的欢乐，默默无闻的命运；
“豪华”也不用带着轻蔑的冷笑
来听讲穷人的又短有简的生平。
门第的炫耀，有权有势的煊赫，
凡是美和财富所能赋予的好处，
前头都等待着不可避免的时刻：
光荣的道路无非是引导到坟墓。
heath：荒野的意思
the clothes of death: black colour clothes
the notes of woe: to cry "weep
The Chimney Sweeper from Songs of Experience
(William Blake) Romantic Period Poet
A little black thing among the snow
Crying “‘weep! ‘weep!” in notes of woe!
“Where are thy father & mother? Say?”
“They are both gone up to the church to pray.
“Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil’d among the winter’s snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
‘And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King,
Who make up a Heaven of our misery.’
"
扫烟囱的孩子
白色的雪原闪动着孩子纤细的身影，
‘扫烟囱的，‘扫烟囱的”叫声更象是凄恻的哭诉。
“我的父母在哪里啊？有谁能告诉我？”
“他们都在教堂虔诚地祷告。
“因为我在这茫茫的荒野里依然快乐舞蹈，
“因为我在这严冬的大雪中依然雀悦欢笑；
“所以他们让我穿上这黑色的尸衣，
“让我高唱这首烟囱的哀歌。
“因为我依然欢快雀悦又跳舞歌唱，。
“所以他们觉得所有这一切都不会将我伤害
“于是他们便向上帝牧师和国王虔诚的祈祷，
“正是那些恶魔将我们的苦难造成了天堂”
Songs of Innocence-The Chimney Sweeper
When
my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
There's
little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot
spoil your white hair."
And
so he was quiet; and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, -
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.
And
by came an angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins and
set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the
sun.
Then
naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the
wind;
And the angel told Tom, if he'd
be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And
so Tom awoke; and we rose in the
dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom
was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
天真之歌——《扫烟囱的小孩》
我幼年时母亲就去世了，
当我的舌尚不能哭喊“’哭泣！’流泪！’叹息！’感伤！”父亲把我卖了
所以我清扫着你的烟囱，在煤灰中睡去。
当小TOM被剪去他那羊毛卷的头发时，他哭了，
因此我安慰道：“安静点，TOM！不要伤心，因为
当你没了头发，就会明白——那些未燃尽的煤灰，不会把你头发烧毁。”
这样，他安静了，那深夜，
当TOM熟睡时，竟做了一个梦！
Dick,Joe,Ned,还有Jack,成千上万的清扫烟囱的同伴，都被锁在漆黑的灵柩中；
而那时，天使带着闪耀的钥匙来了，
他用钥匙打开灵柩，他让他们都获得自由；
同伴们在碧绿的旷野中奔跑——跳跃着，欢笑着，
他们在小河中嬉戏，沐浴阳光。
到那时，他们就不再肮脏，把他们的工具袋放在一旁，
他们在云中雀跃，在风中嬉闹。
天使告诉Tom，如果他是个乖孩子，他就会让上帝做他父亲，让快乐永伴随。
Tom醒来了；在黑暗中起身，拿起工具包和刷子，与我们一道工作去。
尽管这个清晨很寒冷，但Tom却感到温暖，开心；
倘若他们都做好自己的工作，他们就不必惧怕伤害。
老虎The Tyger(check the link) William Blake
<Songs of Experience>
Tyger!
Tyger!
burning brightRnMmi+
In the forests of the night,O.f
What immortal hand or eye)M
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?O,YU
In what distant deeps or skiesE@Q,e
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?(_-|
On what wings dare he aspire?X[5E
What the hand dare seize the fire?5O
And what shoulder, and what art, G%
Could twist the sinews of thy
heart? sP
And when thy heart began to beat, !
What dread hand? & what dread feet?QUU
What
the hammer? what the chain?C
In what furnace was thy brain?-
What the anvil? what dread grasp
cl
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?HOGQBV
近
When
the stars threw down their
spears,@
And water'd heaven with their tears, i
Did he smile his work to see? _6BX;k
Did he who made the Lamb make
thee?,4`8n
Tyger!
Tyger!
burning bright k(O|1
In the forest of the night, fQ!~?"
What immortal hand or eye, Xq_Xf
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
老虎！老虎！黑夜的森林中
燃烧着的煌煌的火光，
是怎样的神手或天眼
造出了你这样的威武堂堂？
你炯炯的两眼中的火
燃烧在多远的天空或深渊？
他乘着怎样的翅膀搏击？
用怎样的手夺来火焰？
又是怎样的膂力，怎样的技巧，
把你的心脏的筋肉捏成？
当你的心脏开始搏动时，
使用怎样猛的手腕和脚胫？
是怎样的槌？怎样的链子？
在怎样的熔炉中炼成你的脑筋？
是怎样的铁砧？怎样的铁臂
敢于捉着这可怖的凶神？
群星投下了他们的投枪。
用它们的眼泪润湿了穹苍，
他是否微笑着欣赏他的作品？
他创造了你，也创造了羔羊？
老虎！老虎！黑夜的森林中
燃烧着的煌煌的火光，
是怎样的神手或天眼
造出了你这样的威武堂堂？
I wandered lonely as a cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
--Written by William Wordsworth
我似流云天自游
我独游于天际，如一朵流云
凌空于谷峰，飘然然悠闲。
忽地，我看见了一群，
一簇簇金黄色的水仙；
看——在树之荫，湖之缘，
在微风中，她们舞姿翩翩。
她们似银河星钻，连延不断，
碧银银，闪闪发光，
沿着湖湾的水缘线，
伸向无穷无尽的远方：
一瞥去便是一万朵，
轻舞中花首频颠簸。
波光里的涟漪也舞弄清影，却
怎比得水仙的欢快；
伴有这等喜悦，
诗人如何不快！
我——久久凝视——但毫无答复，
可知这景致给予我多少财富：
每当我久卧不眠，
心绪空荡，或忧思难抱，
她们便闪现在心田，
正如寂寥中的光照；
于是我的心儿满溢着欢畅，
同这群水仙起舞歌唱！
--作者 英国诗人威廉·华兹华斯
Composed
Upon
Earth
has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
She dwelt among the untrodden ways 她走在无人迹的小道上
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye! u<`E
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
E
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
The Solitary Reaper 孤独的割麦女
BEHOLD
her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself，
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the
grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No
Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the
Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest
Will
no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers
flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the
Maiden
sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;——
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
看，一个孤独的高原姑娘，
在远远的田野间收割，
一边割一边独自歌唱，
请你站住．或者俏悄走过！
她独自把麦子割了又捆，
唱出无限悲凉的歌声，
屏息听吧！深广的谷地
已被歌声涨满而漫溢！
还从未有过夜莺百啭，
唱出过如此迷人的歌，
在沙漠中的绿荫间
抚慰过疲惫的旅客；
还从未有过杜鹃迎春，
声声啼得如此震动灵魂，
在遥远的赫布利底群岛
打破过大海的寂寥。
她唱什么，谁能告诉我？
忧伤的音符不断流涌，
是把遥远的不聿诉说？
是把古代的战争吟咏？
也许她的歌比较卑谦，
只是唱今日平凡的悲欢，
只是唱自然的哀伤苦痛——
昨天经受过，明天又将重逢？
姑娘唱什么，我猜不着，
她的歌如流水永无尽头；
只见她一边唱一边干活，
弯腰挥镰，操劳不休……
我凝神不动，听她歌唱，
然后，当我登上了山岗，
尽管歌声早已不能听到，
它却仍在我心头缭绕。
Kubla Khan
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In
Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So
twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But
oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla
heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The
shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A
damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of
忽必列汗
萨缪尔·柯勒律治
忽必列汗在上都曾经
下令造一座堂皇的安乐殿堂：
这地方有圣河亚佛流奔，
穿过深不可测的洞门，
直流入不见阳光的海洋。
有方圆五英里肥沃的土壤，
四周给围上楼塔和城墙：
那里有花园，蜿蜒的溪河在其间闪耀，
园里树枝上鲜花盛开，一片芬芳；
这里有森林，跟山峦同样古老，
围住了洒满阳光的一块块青草草场。
但是，啊！那深沉而奇异的巨壑
沿青山斜裂，横过伞盖的柏树！
野蛮的地方，既神圣而又着了魔－－
好象有女人在衰落的月色里出没，
为她的魔鬼情郎而凄声嚎哭！
巨壑下，不绝的喧嚣在沸腾汹涌，
似乎这土地正喘息在快速而猛烈的悸动中，
从这巨壑里，不断迸出股猛烈的地泉；
在它那断时续的涌迸之间，
巨大的石块飞跃着象反跳的冰雹，
或者象打稻人连枷下一撮撮新稻；
从这些舞蹈的岩石中，时时刻刻
迸发出那条神圣的溪河。
迷乱地移动着，蜿蜒了五英里地方，
那神圣的溪河流过了峡谷和森林，
于是到达了深不可测的洞门，
在喧嚣中沉入了没有生命的海洋；
从那喧嚣中忽必列远远听到
祖先的喊声预言着战争的凶兆！
安乐的宫殿有倒影
宛在水波的中央漂动；
这儿能听见和谐的音韵
来自那地泉和那岩洞。
这是个奇迹呀，算得是稀有的技巧，
阳光灿烂的安乐宫，连同那雪窟冰窖！
有一回我在幻象中见到
一个手拿德西马琴的姑娘：
那是个阿比西尼亚少女，
在她的琴上她奏出乐曲，
歌唱着阿伯若山。
如果我心中能再度产生
她的音乐和歌唱，
我将被引入如此深切的欢欣，
以至于我要用音乐高朗而又长久
在空中建造那安乐宫廷，
那阳光照临的宫廷，那雪窟冰窖！
谁都能见到这宫殿，只要听见了乐音。
他们全都会喊叫：当心！当心！
他飘动的头发，他闪光的眼睛！
织一个圆圈，把他三道围住，
闭下你两眼，带着神圣的恐惧，
因为他一直吃着蜜样甘露，
一直饮着天堂的琼浆仙乳
。
Song for the Luddites (TO show Byron’s support of the Luddites, who destroyed the machines in their protest against unemployment. The poet’s great sympathy for the workers in their struggle against the capitalists is clearly shown)
As the Liberty lads o'er the sea (指的独立战争中美国人)
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding-sheet （包死人的布the sheet used to wrap up the corpse）
O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd. (means the blood he has shed)
Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of
盧德派之歌
海外的自由的兒郎
買到了自由----用鮮血﹔
我們，不自由便陣亡!
除了我們的盧德王，
把一切國王都消滅!
等我們把布匹織出，
梭子換成了利劍，
就要把這塊屍布
擲向腳下的獨夫，
用他的腥血來染遍!
他腥血和心一樣黑，
血管腐爛如泥土﹔
把血水拿來當露水，
澆灌盧德所栽培----
我們的自由之樹!
英格兰男人之歌A Song: Men of England (political lyrics, it’s not only a war cry calling upon all working people of England to rise up against their political oppressors, but also an address to point out to them the intolerable injustice of economic exploitation)
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
英格兰汉子，你为何劳作Men of England, wherefore plough
是为了将你踩在脚下的主人？For the
Lords who lay you low?
又是为何辛勤仔细地编织Wherefore
weave with toil and care
是为了富人的华衫暴君的外衣？The rich
robes your tyrants wear?
为何养育、穿衣、储蓄Wherefore
feed and clothe and save
从诞生到死亡From the
cradle to the grave
这些不领情的寄生虫，他们Those
ungrateful drones who
诈干了你的汗水，而且还喝你的血Drain your
sweat - nay, drink your blood
你们有过空闲，安适，安静的Have ye
Leisure, comfort, calm
住所，食物，止痛的香油？Shelter,
food, love's gentle balm?
或是你要买的这些东西太过昂贵Or what is
ye buy so dear
寄托了太多你的伤痛和恐惧With your
pain and with your fear
你为了下一次收获而播种The seed
ye sow another reaps
你找到了财富，别人拥有The wealth
ye find, another keeps
你编织长袍，别人穿上THe robes ye weave, another wears
你锻造武器，别人带上The arms
ye forge, another bears
播种－但不要让暴君收获Sow seed -
but let no tyrant reap
找到财富－但不要让骗子收获Find
wealth - let no impostor heap
编织长袍－但不要让不劳而获者穿上Weave
robes - let not the idle wear
锻造武器－在你自己的战壕里使用Forge arms
- in your defence to bear
用犁，铲，锄和织布机With
plough and spade and hoe and loom
找寻你的墓地并建造你的坟墓Trace your
grave and build your tomb
并编织你缠绕的被褥直到公平降临And weave
your winding sheet till fair
英格兰是你的坟墓England be your sepulcher
Ode to the West Wind
(Shelley eulogized the powerful west wind and expressed his eagerness to enjoy the boundless freedom from the reality. He gathered in his poem a wealth of symbolism, employed a structural art and his powers of metrical orchestration at their mightiest.)
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeting,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O Thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, untill
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!
I I
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughts of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lighting :there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou Dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain and fire and hail will burst:O hear!
I I I
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Meditteranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For
whose path the
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!
I V
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strenth, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave , a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift , and proud.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies.
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And , by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter,as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O , Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
西风颂
１
哦，狂暴的西风，秋之生命的呼吸！
你无形，但枯死的落叶被你横扫，
有如鬼魅碰到了巫师，纷纷逃避：
黄的，黑的，灰的，红得像患肺痨，
呵，重染疫疠的一群：西风呵，是你
以车驾把有翼的种子催送到
黑暗的冬床上，它们就躺在那里，
像是墓中的死穴，冰冷，深藏，低贱，
直等到春天，你碧空的姊妹吹起
她的喇叭，在沉睡的大地上响遍，
（唤出嫩芽，象羊群一样，觅食空中）
将色和香充满了山峰和平原。
不羁的精灵呵，你无处不远行；
破坏者兼保护者：听吧，你且聆听！
２
没入你的急流，当高空一片混乱，
流云象大地的枯叶一样被撕扯
脱离天空和海洋的纠缠的枝干。
成为雨和电的使者：它们飘落
在你的磅礴之气的蔚蓝的波面，
有如狂女的飘扬的头发在闪烁，
从天穹的最遥远而模糊的边沿
直抵九霄的中天，到处都在摇曳
欲来雷雨的卷发，对濒死的一年
你唱出了葬歌，而这密集的黑夜
将成为它广大墓陵的一座圆顶，
里面正有你的万钧之力的凝结；
那是你的浑然之气，从它会迸涌
黑色的雨，冰雹和火焰：哦，你听！
３
是你，你将蓝色的地中海唤醒，
而它曾经昏睡了一整个夏天，
被澄澈水流的回旋催眠入梦，
就在巴亚海湾的一个浮石岛边，
它梦见了古老的宫殿和楼阁
在水天辉映的波影里抖颤，
而且都生满青苔、开满花朵，
那芬芳真迷人欲醉！呵，为了给你
让一条路，大西洋的汹涌的浪波
把自己向两边劈开，而深在渊底
那海洋中的花草和泥污的森林
虽然枝叶扶疏，却没有精力；
听到你的声音，它们已吓得发青：
一边颤栗，一边自动萎缩：哦，你听！
４
哎，假如我是一片枯叶被你浮起，
假如我是能和你飞跑的云雾，
是一个波浪，和你的威力同喘息，
假如我分有你的脉搏，仅仅不如
你那么自由，哦，无法约束的生命！
假如我能像在少年时，凌风而舞
便成了你的伴侣，悠游天空
（因为呵，那时候，要想追你上云霄，
似乎并非梦幻），我就不致像如今
这样焦躁地要和你争相祈祷。
哦，举起我吧，当我是水波、树叶、浮云！
我跌在生活底荆棘上，我流血了！
这被岁月的重轭所制服的生命
原是和你一样：骄傲、轻捷而不驯。
５
把我当作你的竖琴吧，有如树林：
尽管我的叶落了，那有什么关系！
你巨大的合奏所振起的音乐
将染有树林和我的深邃的秋意：
虽忧伤而甜蜜。呵，但愿你给予我
狂暴的精神！奋勇者呵，让我们合一！
请把我枯死的思想向世界吹落，
让它像枯叶一样促成新的生命！
哦，请听从这一篇符咒似的诗歌，
就把我的话语，像是灰烬和火星
从还未熄灭的炉火向人间播散！
让预言的喇叭通过我的嘴唇
把昏睡的大地唤醒吧！要是冬天
已经来了，西风呵，春日怎能遥远？
1819年
查良铮 译
Ode on a Grecian Urn
By John Keats
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian,who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals,or of both,
In
What men or gods are these?What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit?What strggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels?What wild wcstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet,but those unheard
Are sweeter;therefore,ye soft pipes,play on;
Nor to the sensual ear,but,more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth,beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song,nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover,never,never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet,do not grieve;
She cannot fade,though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love,and she be fair!
Ah,happy,happy boughs!that cannot shed
Your leaves,nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And,happy melodist,unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love!more happy,happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting,and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead,and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk,this pious morn?
And,little town,thy streets for evermore
Will silenct be;and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate,can e'er return.
O Attic shape!Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou,silent form,dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity:Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain,in midst of other woe
Than ours,a friend to man,to whom thou say'st,
Beayty is truth,truth beauty----that is all
Ye know on earth,and all ye need to know.
希腊古瓮颂
你委身“寂静”的、完美的处子，
受过了“沉默”和“悠久”的抚育，
呵，田园的史家，你竟能铺叙
一个如花的故事，比诗还瑰丽：
在你的形体上，岂非缭绕着
古老的传说，以绿叶为其边缘；
讲着人，或神，敦陂或阿卡狄？
呵，是怎样的人，或神！在舞乐前
多热烈的追求！少女怎样地逃躲！
怎样的风笛和鼓谣！怎样的狂喜！
听见的乐声虽好，但若听不见
却更美；所以，吹吧，柔情的风笛；
不是奏给耳朵听，而是更甜，
它给灵魂奏出无声的乐曲；
树下的美少年呵，你无法中断
你的歌，那树木也落不了叶子；
卤莽的恋人，你永远、永远吻不上，
虽然够接近了－－但不必心酸；
她不会老，虽然你不能如愿以偿，
你将永远爱下去，她也永远秀丽！
呵，幸福的树木！你的枝叶
不会剥落，从不曾离开春天；
幸福的吹笛人也不会停歇，
他的歌曲永远是那么新鲜；
呵，更为幸福的、幸福的爱！
永远热烈，正等待情人宴飨，
永远热情地心跳，永远年轻；
幸福的是这一切超凡的情态：
它不会使心灵餍足和悲伤，
没有炽热的头脑，焦渴的嘴唇。
这些人是谁呵，都去赶祭祀？
这作牺牲的小牛，对天鸣叫，
你要牵它到哪儿，神秘的祭司？
花环缀满着它光滑的身腰。
是从哪个傍河傍海的小镇，
或哪个静静的堡寨山村，
来了这些人，在这敬神的清早？
呵，小镇，你的街道永远恬静；
再也不可能回来一个灵魂
告诉人你何以是这么寂寥。
哦，希腊的形状！唯美的观照！
上面缀有石雕的男人和女人，
还有林木，和践踏过的青草；
沉默的形体呵，你象是“永恒”
使人超越思想：呵，冰冷的牧歌！
等暮年使这一世代都凋落，
只有你如旧；在另外的一些
忧伤中，你会抚慰后人说：
“美即是真，真即是美，”这就包括
你们所知道、和该知道的一切。?
Break, break, break Alfred Tennyson
(The poet’s own feelings of sadness are contrasted with the carefree, innocent joys of the children and the unfeeling movement of the ship and the sea waves. The beauty of the lyric is to be found in the musical language and in the association of sound and images with feelings and emotions.)
Break, break, break
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break,
break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me
Crossing
The Bar
(this poem was written in the later years of Tennyson’s life. We can feel his
fearlessness towards death, his faith in God and an afterlife. “Crossing the
bar” means leaving this world and entering the next world)
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the
boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
Ulysses (Dramatic monologue)
by Alfred Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
?
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far
on the ringing plains of windy
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
?
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
?
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads- you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
?
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
My Last Duchess is Browning’s best-known dramatic monologue. The duke reveals himself as a self-conceited, cruel and tyrannical man. The poem Is written in heroic couplets, but with no regular metrical system
My Last Duchess Robert Browning
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said
'Frà Pandolf'
by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 't was not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess'
cheek: perhaps
Frà Pandolf chanced to say, 'Her mantle
laps
Over my
lady's wrist too much,' or 'Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat:' such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart -- how shall I say? -- too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 't was all one! my favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace -- all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men, -- good! but
thanked
Somehow -- I know not how -- as if she ranked
my gift
of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech -- (which I have not) -- to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, 'Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark' -- and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
-- E'en then would be some
stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I have commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my
object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
我的前公爵夫人
墙上的这幅面是我的前公爵夫人，
看起来就像她活着一样。如今，
我称它为奇迹：潘道夫师的手笔
经一日忙碌，从此她就在此站立。
你愿坐下看看她吗？我有意提起
潘道夫，因为外来的生客（例如你）
凡是见了画中描绘的面容、
那真挚的眼神的深邃和热情，
没有一个不转向我（因为除我外
再没有别人把画上的帘幕拉开），
似乎想问我可是又不大敢问；
是从哪儿来的——这样的眼神？
你并非第一个人回头这样问我。
先生，不仅仅是她丈夫的在座
使公爵夫人面带欢容，可能
潘道夫偶然说过：“夫人的披风
盖住她的手腕太多，”或者说：
“隐约的红晕向颈部渐渐隐没，
这绝非任何颜料所能复制。”
这种无聊话，却被她当成好意，
也足以唤起她的欢心。她那颗心——
怎么说好呢？——要取悦容易得很，
也太易感动。她看到什么都喜欢，
而她的目光又偏爱到处观看。
先生，她对什么都一样！她胸口上
佩戴的我的赠品，或落日的余光；
过分殷勤的傻子在园中攀折
给她的一枝樱桃，或她骑着
绕行花圃的白骡——所有这一切
都会使她同样地赞羡不绝，
或至少泛起红晕。她感激人．好的！
但她的感激（我说不上怎么搞的）
仿佛把我赐她的九百年的门第
与任何人的赠品并列。谁愿意
屈尊去谴责这种轻浮举止？即使
你有口才（我却没有）能把你的意志
给这样的人儿充分说明：“你这点
或那点令我讨厌。这儿你差得远，
而那儿你超越了界限。”即使她肯听
你这样训诫她而毫不争论，
毫不为自己辩解，——我也觉得
这会有失身份，所以我选择
绝不屈尊。哦，先生，她总是在微笑，
每逢我走过；但是谁人走过得不到
同样慷慨的微笑？发展至此，
我下了令：于是一切微笑都从此制止。
她站在那儿，像活着一样。请你起身
客人们在楼下等。我再重复一声：
你的主人——伯爵先生闻名的大方
足以充分保证：我对嫁妆
提出任何合理要求都不会遭拒绝；
当然．如我开头声明的，他美貌的小姐
才是我追求的目标。别客气，让咱们
一同下楼吧。但请看这海神尼普顿
在驯服海马，这是件珍贵的收藏，
是克劳斯为我特制的青铜铸像。
meeting at night夜之约 robert browning (1812-1889)
the gray sea Ａnd the long
black lＡnd；
Ａnd the yellow half-moon large Ａnd low；
Ａnd the startled little waves that leap
in fiery
ringlets from their sleep,
as i gain the cove with pushing prow,
Ａnd quench its speed in the slushy sＡnd.
灰色的大海黑色大地，
黄色的半月又大又低。
微微波浪从梦中惊起，
跳跃着驶入阵阵涟漪。
船头急速地冲向海湾，
骤然停在泥泞的沙滩。
then a
mile of warm sea-scented beach；
three
fields to cross till a farm appears；
a tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
Ａnd blue spurt of a lighted match,
Ａnd a voice less loud, through its joys Ａnd dears,
than the
two hearts beating each to each!
走一哩温暖飘香的海滩，
过三块农田有村舍出现。
敲窗声引来惊慌地张望，
擦火柴喷出蓝色的光芒。
轻声细语难隐欣喜若狂，
两颗悸动的心相互碰撞。
Parting at Morning (here in the description of sun-rise, the poet unconsciously expresses his helplessness in having to face up his duty as a man)
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain’s rim;
And straight was a path of gold for him (him refer to the sun),
And the need of a world of men for me.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree (Tired of the life of his day, Yeats sought to escape into an ideal “fairyland” where he could live calmly as a hermit and enjoy the beauty of nature. )
William
I will
arise and go now,
And go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there,
Of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there,
A hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And
I shall have some peace there,
For peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning
To where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer,
And noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now,
For always night and day
I hear lake water lapping
With low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, Or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core
湖心小岛
现在我要起身走了，走到隐士屿，
在那儿结一座小庐，用泥灰枝干，
在那儿我要种九畦豆，造一蜂居，
独住在蜂声嗡嗡的林间。
在那儿我要享点安静，因为安静降落缓慢，
降自清晨的纱幔到蟋蟀啼唱的地方；
那儿子夜一片朦胧，正午紫光灿烂，
黄昏织满梅花雀的翅膀。
现在我要起身走了，因为整夜整昼
我总是听见湖水舐岸的微音；
当我伫立大路或灰白小道的时候，
我听见它在深心的中心。
(施颖州 译)
Down by the
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
在莎莉花园深处，吾爱与我曾经相遇。
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
她穿越莎莉花园，以雪白的小脚。
She bid me take love easy, as the
leaves grow on the tree;
她嘱咐我要爱得轻松，当新叶在枝桠萌芽。
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
但我当年年幼无知，不予轻率苟同。
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
在河边的田野，吾爱与我曾经驻足。
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
她依靠在我的肩膀，以雪白的小手。
She bid me take life easy, as the
grass grows on the weirs;
她嘱咐我要活得轻松，当青草在堤岸滋长。
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
但我当年年幼无知，而今热泪盈眶。
There Was a Child Went Forth Every Day (This poems
describes the growth of a child who learned about the world around him and
improved himself accordingly. In the poem Whitman’s own early experience may
well be identified with the childhood of a yound
,growing Americans.)
By Walt Whitman
There was a child went forth every
day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he
became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the
song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal
and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became part of him.
The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him,
Winter-grain sprouts and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots
of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms and the
fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road,
And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of the tavern whence he
had lately risen,
And the schoolmistress that pass'd on her way to the
school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd, and the
quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls, and the
barefoot negro boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country wherever he went.
His own parents, he that had father'd him and she
that had conceiv'd
him in her womb and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of
themselves than that,
They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him.
The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table,
The mother with mild words, clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks
by,
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd,
unjust,
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture, the yearning and
swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay'd, the sense of
what is real, the thought if after all it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and
how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes and specks
what are they?
The streets themselves and the facades of houses, and goods in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves, the huge
crossing at the ferries,
The village on the highland seen from afar at sunset, the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs
and gables of white or brown two miles off,
The schooner near by sleepily dropping down the tide, the little boat slack-tow'd astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of
maroon-tint away
solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore
mud,
These became part of that child
who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Cavalry Crossing a Ford
Remidnds its readers of a pcture, or a photo, of a scene of the American Civil War.All the movemens described in this pictures are frozen.
A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands,
They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to the musical clank,
Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink,
Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person, a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles,
Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while,
Scarlet and blue and snowy white,
The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.
骑兵渡浅滩
一列长队在郁郁的小岛间蜿蜒行进，
他们的武器在阳光中闪烁——听那铿锵悦耳的声音，
看那亮晶晶的河流，趟水的马在悠闲地走着，饮着河水，
看那脸庞黝黑的骑兵，每一群、每一个都是一幅画，
懒散地在马鞍上休息，
有的已在对岸出现，有的刚走下浅滩，
那鲜红的、天蓝的、雪白的，
欢快的军旗迎风招展。
Song of Myself
(This poem first appeared in the 1855 edition Leaves of Grass without a title . In the 1856 edition , the title was "poem of Walt Whitman ,an American ; " then it became " Walt Whitman " in 1860 and remained under that title until 1881 , when it finally became "Song of Myself . "in this poem Whitman sets forth weo principal beliefs : the theory of wniversality , which is illustrated by lengthy catalogues of people and things , and the belief in the singularity and equality of all beings in value . The followong is the first section of the poem .)
I celebrate myself , and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume ,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you .
I loafe and invite my soul ,
Ileam and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass .
My tongue , every atom of my blood , form' d from this soil ,
this air ,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same , and their
parents the same,
I , now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin ,
Hoping to cease not till death .
Creeds and schools in abeyance ,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are , but never forgotten ,
I harbor for good or bad , I permit to speak at every hazard ,
Nature without check with original energy .
This is my letter to the world Expresses her anxiety about her communication with the outside world
Emily Dickinson
This is my letter to the world,
That never
wrote to me,--
The simple news that Nature told—,
With
tender majesty.
Her
message is committed
To hands I cannot see—;
For love
of her —sweet—— countrymen,
Judge
tenderly—— of me!
I heard a fly buzz when i died.(description of the moment of death)
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the
air
Between the heaves of storm.
The
eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable, and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue,
uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and
then
I could not see to see.
I Like To See It Lap The Miles by Emily Dickinson.
This
poem is an interesting study of how
I like
to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at
tanks;
And then, prodigious, step
Around
a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of
roads;
And then a quarry pare
To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill
And
neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop - docile and omnipotent
At its own stable door.
because i could not stop for death
(in this
poem
Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me.
The carriage held by just ourselves
and immortality.
?
We slowly drove-he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labour and my leisure too,
For his civility.
?
We passed the school where children strove
At recess - in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.
?
Or rather he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer,my gown
My tippet, only Tulle
?
We paused before a house that seemed
A sweilling of the ground
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice-in the ground.
?
Since then tis centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses heads
Were toward eternity.
In a station of the Metro (Imagism) Ezra Pound
(an observation of the poet of the human faces seen in a
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
A pact (in this poem, Pound started to find some agreement between “Whitmansque” free verse)
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman-------
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood,
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root----
Let there be commerce between us. (commerce means the exchange of views, attitudes, etc)
After Apple-picking by Robert Lee Frost
This poem is so vivid a memory of experience on the farm in which the end of labor leaves the speaker with a sense of completion and fulfillment yet finds him blocked from success by winter's approach and physical weariness
MY long
two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree?
Toward heaven still,?
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill?
Beside it, and there may be two or three?
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.?????????
But I am
done with apple-picking now.?
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,?
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.?
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight?
I got from looking through a pane of glass?????????
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough?
And held against the world of hoary grass.?
It melted, and I let it fall and break.?
But I was well?
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,?????????
And I could tell?
What form my dreaming was about to take.?
Magnified apples appear and disappear,?
Stem end and blossom end,?
And every fleck of russet showing clear.?????????
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,?
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.?
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.?
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin?
The rumbling sound?????????
Of load on load of apples coming in.?
For I have had too much?
Of apple-picking: I am
overtired?
Of the great harvest I myself desired.?
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to
touch,?????????
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.?
For all?
That struck the earth,?
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,?
Went surely to the cider-apple heap?????????
As of no worth.?
One can see what will trouble?
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.?
Were he not gone,?
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his?????????
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,?
Or just some human sleep.
夜晚在散发着冬眠的气息
——那扑鼻的苹果香；
我是在打磕睡啦。
我揉揉眼睛，
却揉不掉眼前的奇怪——
这怪景像来自今天早晨，
我从饮水槽里揭起一层冰——
像一块窗玻璃，隔窗望向
一个草枯霜重的世界。
冰溶了，我由它掉下．碎掉。
可是它还没落地，我早就
膘膘肪脆，快掉进了睡乡。
我还说得出，我的梦
会是怎么样一个形状。
膨胀得好大的苹果，忽隐忽现，
一头是梗枝，一头是花儿，
红褐色的斑点，全看得请。
好酸疼哪．我的脚底板．
可还得使劲吃住梯子档的分量，
我感到那梯子
随着弯倒的树枝，在摇晃。
耳边只听得不断的隆隆声——
一桶又一捅苹果往地窖里送。
摘这么些苹果，
尽够我受了；我本是盼望
来个大丰收，可这会儿已累坏了，
有千千万万的苹果你得去碰，
得轻轻地去拿，轻轻地去放．
不能往地上掉。只要一掉地，
即使没碰伤，也没叫草梗扎破，
只好全都堆在一边，去做苹果酒，
算是不值一钱。
你看吧，打扰我睡一觉的是什么，
且不提这算不算睡一觉。
如果土拨鼠没有走开，
听我讲睡梦怎样来到我身边，
那它就可以说，
这跟它的冬眠倒有些像，
或者说，这不过是人类的冬眠
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Robert
Frost
In this meditative poem, the speaker tells us how the course of his life was
determined when he came upon two roads that diverged in a wood.
Two roads
diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry
I could not travel both
And be one
traveler, long I stood
And looked
down one as far as I could
To where
it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having
perhaps the better claim,
Because it
was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as
for that the passing there
Had worn
them really about the same,
And both
that morning equally lay
In leaves
no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept
the first for another day!
Yet
knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted
if I should ever come back.
I shall be
telling this with a sigh
Somewhere
ages and ages hence:
Two roads
diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that
has made all the difference.
金色的树林路分两条，
遗憾不能两条都到。
孤独的我长久亻宁立，
极日眺望其中一条，
直到它在灌丛中淹没掉。
然后我公平地选择了另外一条，
或许理由更加充分，
因为它草深需要有人上去走走。
说到有多少人从上面走过
两条路磨损得还真是差不多。
而且那天早晨两条路都静静地躺着，
覆盖在上面的树叶都没有被踩黑，
噢，我把第一条路留给了下一次！
但我知道前方的路变幻莫测，
我怀疑我是否应该回来……
多年以后在某个地方，
我将叹息着讲述这件事：
树林里路分两条，而我——
选择了行人较少的那条，
就这样一切便发生了改变
Stopping
By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Robert Frost
Whose
woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives
his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep
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