求爱尔兰诗人叶芝的诗英文原稿
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发布时间：2022-08-14 19:43
共4个回答
热心网友
时间：2024-12-04 08:40
When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep；
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true；
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
当你老了 （叶芝）
当你老了，白发苍苍，睡思昏沉，
在炉火旁打盹，请取下这部诗歌，
慢慢读，回想你过去眼神的柔和
回想它们过去的浓重的阴影；
多少人爱你年轻欢畅的时候
出于假意或真心地爱慕你的美貌，
只有一个人爱你那朝圣者的灵魂，
爱你老去的容颜的痛苦的皱纹。
躬身在红光闪耀的炉火旁，
凄然地低语，爱为何消逝，
在头顶的山上，它缓缓踱着步子，
将脸隐没在群星之中。
热心网友
时间：2024-12-04 08:40
We 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-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There’s many a one shall find out all heartache
On 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.’
The Sorrow of Love
The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Has hid away earth”s old and weary cry.
And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world”s tears,
And all the trouble of her laboring ships
And all the trouble of her myriad years.
And how the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth”s old and weary cry.
The Song Of The Old Mother
I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
Politics
“In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in political terms. ” -Thomas Mann
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
Yet here”s a travelled man that knows
What he talks about,
And there”s a politician
That has both read and thought,
And maybe what they say is true
Of war and war”s alarms,
But O that I were young again
And held her in my arms.
Crazy Jane On The Day Of Judgment
"LOVE is all
Unsatisfied
That cannot take the whole
Body and soul”;
And that is what Jane said.
"Take the sour
If you take me
I can scoff and lour
And scold for an hour.”
"That”s certainly the case,” said he.
"Naked I lay,
The grass my bed;
Naked and hidden away,
That black day”;
And that is what Jane said.
"What can be shown?
What true love be?
All could be known or shown
If Time were but gone.”
"That”s certainly the case,” said he.
---By William Butler Yeats
The saint and the hunchback
Hunchback
Stand up and lift your hand and
bless
A man that finds great bitterness
In thinking of his lost renown.
A Roman Caesar is held down
Under this hump.
Saint
God tries each man
According to a different plan.
I shall not cease to bless because
I lay about me with the taws
That night and morning I may thrash
Greek Alexander from my flesh,
Augustus Caesar, and after these
That great rogue Alcibiades.
Hunchback
To all that in your flesh have stood
And blessed, I give my gratitude,
Honoured by all in their degrees,
But most to Alcibiades.
The Rose Tree
“O WORDS are lightly spoken,”
Said Pearse to Connolly,
“Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.”
“It needs to be but watered,”
James Connolly replied,
“To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden”s pride.”
“But where can we draw water,”
Said Pearse to Connolly,
“When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There”s nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.”
热心网友
时间：2024-12-04 08:41
http://www.lingshi.com/yishi/yeats.htm 中文的
我最喜欢 Under Ben Bulben里的“Cast a cold eye / On life, on death. / Horseman, pass by!"
热心网友
时间：2024-12-04 08:41
