英国 A. E. 豪斯曼原著
Alfred Edward Housman (1859 – 1936)
徐家祯翻译
Morning up the eastern stair
Marches, azuring the air,
And the foot of twilight still
Is stolen toward the western sill.
Blithe the maids go milking, blithe
Men in hayfields stone the scythe,
All the land’s alive around
Except the churchyard’s idle ground.
— There’s empty acres west and east
But aye ’tis God’s that bears the least:
This hopeless garden that they sow
With the seeds that never grow.
— They shall have breath that never were,
But he that was shall have it ne’er;
The unconceived and unbegot
Shall look on heaven, but he shall not.
— The heart with many wildfires lit,
Ice is not so cold as it.
The thirst that rivers could not lay
A little dust has quenched for aye;
And in a fathom’s compass lie
Thoughts much wider than the sky.