叶芝诗集翻译

ADAM'S CURSEWE sat together at one summer's end,That beautiful mild woman, your close friend, And you and I, and talked of poetry.I said, "A line will take us hours maybe;Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Better go down upon your marrow-bonesAnd scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;For to articulate sweet sounds togetherIs to work harder than all these, and yetBe thought an idler by the noisy setOf bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymenThe martyrs call the world.'And thereuponThat beautiful mild woman for whose sakeThere's many a one shall find out all heartacheOn finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied, "To be born woman is to know --Although they do not talk of it at school --That we must labour to be beautiful.'I said, "It's certain there is no fine thingSince Adam's fall but needs much labouring. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesyThat they would sigh and quote with learned looks precedents out of beautiful old books;Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'We sat grown quiet at the name of love;We saw the last embers of daylight die,And in the trembling blue-green of the skyA moon, worn as if it had been a shellWashed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years.I had a thought for no one's but your ears:That you were beautiful, and that I stroveTo love you in the old high way of love;That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grownAs weary-hearted as that hollow moon.亚当的诅咒我们一起坐在一个夏天的尾巴上，那个温婉美丽的女子，你的密友。

和我与你，只言片语，关于诗句。

我说，“有一条线也许将会带着我们的时光，但是如果它没有看到哪怕一秒的思忖，我们的契合抑或不契合，皆无意义。

”最好弯下你的脊梁放下你尊严，然后擦洗厨房人行道，或者击碎石块，就像一个饱经风霜的老乞丐。

为了能一起发出清晰甜蜜的声音，比这些更幸苦的工作，却当成了与银行家、学着、牧师所相提并论的喧嚣。

殉道者称之为世道。

那么那个温婉动人的女子为了谁的理由，一个人应该找到所有的悲叹，在这找寻中，她的声音动人而低迷，回答道：“女子与生俱知尽管我们未曾在学校提及但是我们必须变得美丽！”我说，“这里还有为被发现的事情，自从亚当倒下但是需要被后继，这里的爱人们认为爱都应该与殷勤糅合，他们将叹息着引经据典，然而，现在一个游手好闲者足矣”我们在爱的名义下安静地滋长我们看见日光死后的最后一丝余烬我们在苍穹下战栗月亮蜷缩着好像它拥有它的壳随着它的升起和落下浪费逝如流水的时光而星辰在年年岁岁中陨落我有一个想法未曾与人提及除了私语于你你如此美丽我也曾努力去爱你以一种亘古的方式它看起来曾那么舒心然而当我们长大了它却像空虚的月亮满心疲倦ALL SOULS' NIGHTi{Epilogue to "A Vision'}MIDNIGHT has come, and the great Christ Church Bell And may a lesser bell sound through the room;And it is All Souls' Night,And two long glasses brimmed with muscatelBubble upon the table. A ghost may come;For it is a ghost's right,His element is so fineBeing sharpened by his death,To drink from the wine-breathWhile our gross palates drink from the whole wine.I need some mind that, if the cannon soundFrom every quarter of the world, can stayWound in mind's ponderingAs mummies in the mummy-cloth are wound; Because I have a marvellous thing to say,A certain marvellous thingNone but the living mock,Though not for sober ear;It may be all that hearShould laugh and weep an hour upon the clock. Horton's the first I call. He loved strange thoughtAnd knew that sweet extremity of prideThat's called platonic love,And that to such a pitch of passion wroughtNothing could bring him, when his lady died, Anodyne for his love.Words were but wasted breath;One dear hope had he:The inclemencyOf that or the next winter would be death.Two thoughts were so mixed up I could not tell Whether of her or God he thought the most,But think that his mind's eye,When upward turned, on one sole image fell;And that a slight companionable ghost,Wild with divinity,Had so lit up the wholeImmense miraculous houseThe Bible promised us,It seemed a gold-fish swimming in a bowl.On Florence Emery I call the next,Who finding the first wrinkles on a face Admired and beautiful,And knowing that the future would be vexed With 'minished beauty, multiplied commonplace, preferred to teach a schoolAway from neighbour or friend,Among dark skins, and therepermit foul years to wearHidden from eyesight to the unnoticed end. Before that end much had she ravelled out From a discourse in figurative speechBy some learned IndianOn the soul's journey. How it is whirled about, Wherever the orbit of the moon can reach,Until it plunge into the sun;And there, free and yet fast,Being both Chance and Choice,Forget its broken toysAnd sink into its own delight at last.And I call up MacGregor from the grave,For in my first hard springtime we were friends. Although of late estranged.I thought him half a lunatic, half knave,And told him so, but friendship never ends;And what if mind seem changed,And it seem changed with the mind,When thoughts rise up unbidOn generous things that he didAnd I grow half contented to be blind!He had much industry at setting out,Much boisterous courage, before lonelinessHad driven him crazed;For meditations upon unknown thoughtMake human intercourse grow less and less;They are neither paid nor praised.but he d object to the host,The glass because my glass;A ghost-lover he wasAnd may have grown more arrogant being a ghost. But names are nothing. What matter who it be,So that his elements have grown so fineThe fume of muscatelCan give his sharpened palate ecstasyNo living man can drink from the whole wine.I have mummy truths to tellWhereat the living mock,Though not for sober ear,For maybe all that hearShould laugh and weep an hour upon the clock. Such thought -- such thought have I that hold it tight Till meditation master all its parts,Nothing can stay my glanceUntil that glance run in the world's despiteTo where the damned have howled away their hearts, And where the blessed dance;Such thought, that in it boundI need no other thing,Wound in mind's wanderingAs mummies in the mummy-cloth are wound.。