葬花吟 英文

葬花吟David HawksThe blossoms fade and falling fill the air,Of fragrance and bright hues bereft and bare.Floss drifts and flutters round the Maiden`s bower,Or softly strikes against her curtained door.The Maid ,grieved by these signs of spring`s decease, Seeking some means her sorrow to express,Has rake in hand into the garden gone,Before the fallen flowers are trampled on.Elm-pods and willow-floss are fragrant too;Why care,Maid,where the fallen flowers blew?Next year ,when peach and plum-tree bloom again, Which of your sweet companions will remain?This spring the heartless swallow built his nest Beneath the eaves of mud with flowers compressed. Next year the flowers will blossom as before,But swallow ,nest ,and Maid will be no more.Three hundred and three-score the year`s full tale: From swords of frost and from the slaughtering gale How can the lovely flowers long stay intact,Or, once loosed,from their drifting fate draw back?Blooming so steadfast ,fallen so hard to find! Beside the flowers`grave,with sorrowing mind, The solitary Maid sheds many a tear,Which on the boughs as bloody drops appear. At twilight ,when the cuckoo sings no more, The Maiden with her rake goes in at doorAnd lays her down between the lamplit walls, While a chill rain against the window falls.I know not why my heart`s so strangely sad, Half grieving for the spring and yet half glad: Glad that it came ,grieved it so soon was spent.So soft it came ,so silently it went!Last night ,outside ,a mournful sound was heard: The spirits of the flowers and of the bird.But neither bird nor flowers would long delay, Bird lacking speech,and flowers too shy to stay. And then I wished that I had wings to flyAfter the drifting flowers across the sky:Across the sky to the world`s farthest end,The flowers` last fragrant resting-place to find. But better their remains in silk to layAnd bury underneath the wholesome clay,Pure substances the pure earth to enrich,Than leave to soak and stink in some foul ditch. Can I,that these flowers` obsequies attend,Divine how soon or late my life will end?Let others laugh flower-burial to see:Another year who will be burying me?As petals drop and spring begins to fail,The bloom of youth,too,sickens and turns pale. One day,when spring has gone and youth has fled. The Maiden and the flowers will both be dead.杨宪益As blossoms fade and fly across the sky,Who pities the faded red, the scent that has been? Softly the gossamer floats over spring pavilions, Gently the willow fluff wafts to the embroidered screen.A girl in her chamber mourns the passing of spring, No relief from anxiety her poor heart knows;Hoe in hand she steps through her portal,Loath to tread on the blossom as she comes and goes. Willows and elms, fresh and verdant,Care not if peach and plum blossom drift away;But her chamber may stand empty on that day.By the third month the scented nests are built,But the swallows on the beam are heartless all;From the beam of an empty room your nest will fall. Each year for three hundred and sixty daysHow long can beauty flower fresh and fair?Fallen, the brightest blooms are hard to find;With aching heart their grave-digger comes nowAlone, her hoe in hand, her secret tearsFalling like drops of blood on each bare bough. Dusk falls and the cuckoo is silent;Her hoe brought back, the lodge is locked and still;A green lamp lights the wall as sleep enfolds her, Cold rain pelts the casement and her quilt is chill. What causes my two-fold anguish?Love for spring and resentment of spring;For suddenly it comes and suddenly goes,Its arrival unheralded, noiseless its departing. Last night from the courtyard floated a sad song-- Was it the soul of blossom, the soul of birds, Hard to detain, the soul of blossom or birds?For blossoms have no assurance, birds no words.I long to take wing and flyWith the flowers to earth’s uttermost bound; And yet at earth’s uttermost boundWhere can a fragrant burial mound be found? Better shroud the fair petals in silkWith clean earth for their outer attire;For pure you came and pure shall you go,Not sinking into some foul ditch or mire.Now you are dead I come to bury you;Men laugh at my folly in burying fallen flowers,But who will bury me when dead I lie?See, when spring draws to a close and flowers fall,This is the season when beauty must ebb and fade; The day that spring takes wing and beauty fadesWho will care for the fallen blossom or dead maid?许渊冲译文As flowers fall and fly across the skies,Who rues the red that fades, the scent that dies? Softly the gossamer floats over bowers green; Gently the willow fluff wafts to broidered screen.In my chamber I’m grieved to see spring depart. Where can I pour out my sorrow-laden heart?I step out of my portal with a hoe.On fallen petals could I come and go?Willow threads and elms leaves are fresh and gay; They care not if peach and plum blossom drift away. The peach and plum will bloom next year.But my chamber who will then appear?By the third moon the swallows built their nest,But apathetically on the beam they rest.Next year though they may peck the buds again,O in my empty chamber can their nest remain?For three hundred and sixty days each year,The cutting wind and biting frost make flowers sear. How long can they blossom fresh and fair?Once blown away, they cannot be found anywhere. Their gravedigger, I find no flowers in bloom;My aching heart is further filled with gloom.With hoe in hand, tears secretly shedLike drops of blood turn bare branches red.As twilight falls, the cuckoos sing no more;I come back with my hoe and close the door.Abed in dim-lit room when night is still,I hear cold rain and my quilt feels damp and chill.I wonder why I’m thrown in such a fret:Is it for love of spring or for regret?I love it when it comes, regret it when it goes;But spring comes and goes mute as water flows. Last night from the courtyard a dirge was heard, Sung by the soul of flower and of bird.The bird’s and flower’s soul is hard to detain;The flowers blush and silent birds remain.I long on wings to flyWith the flowers to the end of the earth and sky.At earth’s uttermost bound,Where can I find a fragrant burial mound?Why don’t I shroud in silken bag the petals fairAnd bury them in the earth forever to mingle there? Pure they come and pure shall go,Not sinking to oblivion below.Now they are dead, I come to bury them today. Who can divine the date when I shall pass away? Men laugh at my folly in burying fallen flowers. But who will bury me when come my last hours? See spring depart and flowers wither by and by. This is the time when beauty must grow old and die. Once spring is gone and beauty dead, alas!Who will care for the fallen bloom and buried lass?。