By William Wordsworth - 威廉.華茲華斯
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?
還從未有過夜鶯百囀，
唱出過如此迷人的歌，
在沙漠中的綠蔭間
撫慰過疲憊的旅客；
還從未有過杜鵑迎春，
聲聲啼得如此震動靈魂，
在遙遠的赫布利底群島
打破過大海的寂寥。
她唱什麽，誰能告訴我？
憂傷的音符不斷流湧，
是把遙遠的不聿訴說？
是把古代的戰爭吟詠？
也許她的歌比較卑謙，
隻是唱今日平凡的悲歡，
隻是唱自然的哀傷苦痛——
昨天經受過，明天又將重逢？
