By William Wordsworth - 威廉.华兹华斯
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
还从未有过夜莺百啭，
唱出过如此迷人的歌，
在沙漠中的绿荫间
抚慰过疲惫的旅客；
还从未有过杜鹃迎春，
声声啼得如此震动灵魂，
在遥远的赫布利底群岛
打破过大海的寂寥。
她唱什么，谁能告诉我？
忧伤的音符不断流涌，
是把遥远的不聿诉说？
是把古代的战争吟咏？
也许她的歌比较卑谦，
只是唱今日平凡的悲欢，
只是唱自然的哀伤苦痛——
昨天经受过，明天又将重逢？
