王尔德诗9首
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
This paltry age's gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman's hair,
And be mere Fortune's lackeyed groom,—I swear
I love it not! these things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistle-down of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
The western wind is blowing fair
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover's vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
True love is but a woman's toy,
They never know the lover's pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
With golden hair and lily hand!
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
Camma
As one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet—methinks I'd rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken,—come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!
倾心于它们的美,不忍心离开
而面对浅白的生活;难道我不能
渴望一个慵懒的至福铸成的秘密月亮,
当我在阿尔忒弥斯殿中央的神龛
看见站立着冷峻的你,古典的躯干?
可是——我内心深处更愿意看到你
与古尼罗河的蛇怪嬉戏,它的魔法
让国王们沉醉,——来吧,伟大的埃及,
用你整个模仿的古装戏震撼我们!哦不,
我已厌倦了虚假的激情,且让
世界成为你的亚克兴,我是你的安东尼!
Impression du Matin
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold
Changed to a Harmony in grey:
A barge with ochre-coloured hay
Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold
The yellow fog came creeping down
The bridges, till the houses' walls
Seemed changed to shadows, and S. Paul's
Loomed like a bubble o'er the town.
Then suddenly arose the clang
Of waking life; the streets were stirred
With country waggons: and a bird
Flew to the glistening roofs and sang.
But one pale woman all alone,
The daylight kissing her wan hair,
Loitered beneath the gas lamps' flare,
With lips of flame and heart of stone.
携带一股凉气蠕动着降落
在桥面,直到建筑的外墙
变成了暗影,圣保罗教堂
朦胧显现,像小镇上空的气泡。
生命突然苏醒,叮叮当当
响成一片;通衢小街
缓慢行驶着乡下的马车:
一只小鸟飞抵闪光的屋顶歌唱。
但有一位孤零零的苍白妇人,
日光亲吻她枯干的头发,
她游逛在煤气灯的微光下,
嘴唇猩红,一颗石头的心。
In the Gold Room: A Harmony
Her ivory hands on the ivory keys
Strayed in a fitful fantasy,
Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees
Rustle their pale-leaves listlessly,
Or the drifting foam of a restless sea
When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.
Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold
Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun
On the burnished disk of the marigold,
Or the sun-flower turning to meet the sun
When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,
And the spear of the lily is aureoled.
And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
Burned like the ruby fire set
In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
她的金发披散在金色的墙壁,
仿佛一线线柔嫩的游丝
纠结、缠绕铮亮的圆形金盏花,
又如向日葵转身去会晤太阳,
正当幽蓝之夜的愁雾已经消散,
而百合的花尖闪现着光晕。
她甜蜜的红唇紧贴我的双唇,
灼烫仿佛红宝石燃烧
在深红的神龛里,灯光闪烁;
又如石榴滴血的伤口,
或者像一颗透湿的睡莲心
被漫溢的玫瑰红酒浆所浸泡。
Impressions
I
Les Silhouettes
The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.
II
La Fuite de la Lune
To outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
一只黑色的小船蚀刻
在苍白沙滩上:少年水手
兴高采烈地爬上船,
满面含笑,手背亮晶晶。
麻鹬在头顶上空尖叫,
一个年轻的棕肤刈割者
穿越茂密的高地草丛,
仿佛映衬天空的一幅剪影。
II
月之逃逸
外部感觉上一片安宁,
每只手栖息着梦的静谧,
阴影笼罩的地方万籁俱寂,
阴影止步的地方也阒然无声。
一只孤独而忧郁的鸟
尖叫一声,引发了回响;
一只秧鸡在呼唤它的同伴;
回应来自雾蒙蒙的山冈。
突然,在璀璨的天空
月亮藏起她的镰刀,
裹着淡黄色的薄纱,
一直飞向她幽暗的洞孔。
Impression
Le Réveillon
The sky is laced with fitful red,
The circling mists and shadows flee,
The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.
And jagged brazen arrows fall
Athwart the feathers of the night,
And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,
And spreading wide across the wold
Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.
锯齿状的铜箭落下,
洞穿黑夜的羽层,
一道长长的黄色光波
打破了塔顶与大厅的寂静,
它漫过开阔的原野,
扑愣愣惊醒某只小鸟,
摇动了栗树的尖梢,
每一根树枝都抹上了黄金。
Hélas!
To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:
Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance—
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?
在稚气的假日里被潦草地涂抹,
为笛管和古风写就慵懒的歌曲,
只是它毁弃了整个生活的秘密。
确实有过一段时光,我走过
阳光普照的峰顶,而生命的不和谐音
清晰地撞击琴弦,直抵上帝耳畔:
莫非那时光已死?噢!我只是
用一根嫩枝蘸取了浪漫传奇的蜂蜜——
我就必须丧失一个灵魂的遗产?
Impressions
I
Le Jardin
The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden-walk
The dead leaves scatter,—hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.
II
La Mer
A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
A wild moon in this wintry sky
Gleams like an angry lion's eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.
The muffled steersman at the wheel
Is but a shadow in the gloom;—
And in the throbbing engine room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.
The shattered storm has left its trace
Upon this huge and heaving dome,
For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.
蓬松的向日葵不结果实,
黑黒地挂在茎秆上,
起风的花园小径
撒满了死叶,——一刻不息。
女贞的花瓣洁白似牛奶,
被吹成一个大雪团:
玫瑰花落在草地上
仿佛红绸撕成了小碎片。
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