不要想这些吧,你也有你自己的音乐——

不要想这些吧,你也有你自己的音乐——

 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

雾气洋溢、果实圆熟的秋,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun
你和成熟的太阳成为友伴;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
你们密谋用垒垒的珠球
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
缀满茅屋檐下的葡萄藤蔓;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
使屋前的老树背负着苹果,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

让熟味透进果实的心中,

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
使葫芦胀大,鼓起了榛子壳,
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
好塞进甜核;又为了蜜蜂
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
一次一次开放过迟的花朵,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
使它们以为日子将永远暖和,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
因为夏季早填满它们的粘巢。
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
谁不经常看见你伴着谷仓?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
在田野里也可以把你找到,
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
你有时随意坐在打谷场上,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
让发丝随着簸谷的风轻飘;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
有时候,为罂粟花香所沉迷,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
你倒卧在收割一半的田垅,
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
让镰刀歇在下一畦的花旁;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
或者,像拾穗人越过小溪,
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
你昂首背着谷袋,投下倒影,
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
或者就在榨果架下坐几点钟,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
你耐心瞧着徐徐滴下的酒浆。
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
呵,春日的歌哪里去了?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
但不要想这些吧,你也有你的音乐——
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
当波状的云把将逝的一天映照,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
以胭红抹上残梗散碎的田野
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
这时,河柳下的一群小飞虫
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
就同奏哀音,它们忽而飞高,
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
忽而下落,随着微风的起灭;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
篱下的蟋蟀在歌唱;在园中
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
红胸的知更鸟就群起呼哨;
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
而群羊在山圈里高声咩叫;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
丛飞的燕子在天空呢喃不歇。