【叶芝，W. B.】（William Butler Yeats1865～1939）爱尔兰诗人和剧作家
遥远的、秘密的、不可侵犯的玫瑰呵，
你在我关键的时刻拥抱我吧；那儿，
这些在圣墓中或者在酒车中，
寻找你的人，在挫败的梦的骚动
和混乱之外生活着：深深地
在苍白的眼睑中，睡意慵懒而沉重，
人们称之为美。你巨大的叶子覆盖
古人的胡须，光荣的三圣人献来的
红宝石和金子，那个亲眼看到
钉穿了的手和接骨木十字架的皇帝
在德鲁德的幻想中站起，使火炬黯淡，
最后从疯狂中醒来，死去；还有他，他曾遇见
范德在燃烧的露水中走向远方，
走在风中从来吹不到的灰色海岸上，
他在一吻之下丢掉了爱玛和天下；
还有他，他曾把神祗从要塞里驱赶出来，
最后一百个早晨开花，姹紫嫣红，
他饱赏美景，又痛哭着埋他死去的人的坟；
那个骄傲的、做着梦的皇帝，把王冠
和悲伤抛开，把森林中那些酒渍斑斑的
流浪者中间的诗人和小丑叫来，
他曾卖了耕田、房屋和日用品，
多少年来，他在岸上和岛上找寻，
最后他终于找到了，又是哭又是笑，
一个光彩如此夺目的女娃，
午夜，人们用一绺头发把稻谷打——
一小绺偷来的头发。我也等待着
飓风般的热爱与痛恨的时刻。
什么时候，星星在天空中被吹得四散，
象铁匠店里冒出的火星，然后暗淡，
显然你的时刻已经到来，你的飙风猛刮
遥远的、最秘密的、无可侵犯的玫瑰花？
| FAR off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, | |
| Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those | |
| Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre, | |
| Or in the wine vat, dwell beyond the stir | |
| And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep | |
| Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep | |
| Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold | |
| The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold | |
| Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes | |
| Saw the Pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise | |
| In druid vapour and make the torches dim; | |
| Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him | |
| Who met Fand walking among flaming dew | |
| By a gray shore where the wind never blew, | |
| And lost the world and Emer for a kiss; | |
| And him who drove the gods out of their liss, | |
| And till a hundred morns had flowered red, | |
| Feasted and wept the barrows of his dead; | |
| And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown | |
| And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown | |
| Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods; | |
| And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, | |
| And sought through lands and islands numberless years, | |
| Until he found with laughter and with tears, | |
| A woman, of so shining loveliness, | |
| That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, | |
| A little stolen tress. I, too, await | |
| The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. | |
| When shall the stars be blown about the sky, | |
| Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die? | |
| Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, | |
| Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? | |
