中英对照雪莱

As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard

Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal

Or triumphal chaunt Matched with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt--

A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then, as I am listening now! 致 云 雀

你 好 , 欢 乐 的 精 灵 ! 你 压 根 儿 不 像 飞 鸟 , 你 从 天 堂 或 天 堂 附 近 毫 不 吝 惜 地 倾 倒

如 同 行 云 流 水 一 般 的 心 灵 的 曲 调 。 你 就 像 一 朵 火 云 , 从 地 面 升 腾 而 起 , 上 升 呵 又 复 上 升 , 飞 到 蓝 色 的 天 际 ,