Ode to a Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

我的心在痛，困顿和麻木 刺进了感官，有如饮了毒鸩， 又似刚把鸦片吞服， 于是向着忘川下沉。 并不是我嫉妒你的好运， 而是你的快乐使我太欢欣—— 因为在林间嘹亮的天地里， 你呵，轻翅的仙灵， 你躲进山毛榉的葱绿和荫影， 放开歌喉，歌唱着夏季。

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

哎，要是有一口酒！那冷藏 在地下多年的清醇饮料， 一尝就令人想起绿色之邦， 想起花神、恋歌、阳光和舞蹈！ 要是有一杯南国的温暖 充满了鲜红的灵感之泉， 杯沿明灭着珍珠的泡沫， 给嘴唇染上紫斑； 我要一饮而离开这世界， 和你同去幽暗的林间远处：

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

远远地、远远地隐没，让我忘掉 你在树叶间从不知道的一切， 忘记这疲劳、热病和焦躁， 这里，人们坐着互相听叹息； 瘫痪摇着几根可悲的白发， 青春苍白了，消瘦，死亡； 这里，只要一想就充满了 忧伤和铅灰色的绝望， 美人保不住明眸的光彩， 新生的爱情活不过明天。

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

去吧！去吧！我要朝你飞去， 不用和酒神坐文豹的车驾， 我要展开诗歌底无形羽翼， 尽管这头脑已经疲乏、迟疑； 已经与你同在！夜是这般温柔， 月后正好登上了她的宝座， 周围是侍卫她的一群星星； 但这儿却不甚明亮， 除了有一线天光，被微风带过 葱绿的幽暗和苔藓的曲径。

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

我看不出是什么花在脚旁， 什么清香的花挂在枝上； 在温馨的幽暗中，我只能猜想 这个时令该把哪种芬芳 赋予这果树、灌木和草丛， 这白枳花，和田野的蔷薇， 这绿叶堆中易谢的紫罗兰， 还有五月中旬的骄子， 这缀满了露酒的麝香蔷薇， 它是夏夜里蚊蚋嗡营的港湾。

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.

在黑暗里倾听；多少次啊， 我几乎爱上了静谧的死亡， 我在诗思里用尽了好的辞藻， 求他把我的一息散入空茫； 而现在，哦，死更是多么富丽， 在午夜里溘然而无痛苦， 当你正倾泻着你的心怀 发出这般的狂喜！ 你仍将歌唱，但我却不再听见—— 你的安魂曲只能唱给泥草一块。

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

你不会死去，不朽的鸟！ 饥饿的世代无法把你蹂躏； 今夜，我偶然听到的歌声 曾使古代的帝王和村夫喜悦； 或许这同样的歌也曾激荡 露丝忧郁的心，使她不禁落泪， 站在异邦的谷田里想家； 就是这歌声常常 在失掉了的仙域里引动窗扉： 一个美女望着大海险恶的浪花。

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

啊，失去了！这句话好比一声钟 使我猛省到我站在这儿的实地！ 别了！幻想，这骗人的精灵， 不能老耍弄她盛传的伎俩。 别了！别了！你哀怨的歌声 流过草坪，越过幽静的溪水， 溜上山坡；而此时，它正深深 埋在附近的溪谷中： 那究竟是个幻觉，还是梦寐？ 那歌声去了——我是睡？是醒？