Ode To A Nightingale

John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thy happiness,—-

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage, that hath been

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new love pine at them beyond tomorrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Clustered around by all her starry fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;

And mid-May’s eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—-

To thy high requiem become a sod

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—-do I wake or sleep?

夜鶯頌

我的心在痛，困盹和麻木

刺進(jìn)了感官，有如飲過毒鴆，

又像是剛剛把鴉片吞服，

于是向著列斯忘川下沉：

并不是我嫉妒你的好運，

而是你的快樂使我太歡欣——

因為在林間嘹亮的天地里，

你呵，輕翅的仙靈。

你躲進(jìn)山毛櫸的蔥綠和陰影，

放開了歌喉，歌唱著夏季。

唉，要是有一口酒!那冷藏

在地下多年的清醇飲料，

一嘗就令人想起綠色之邦，

想起花神，戀歌，陽光和舞蹈!

要是有一杯南國的溫暖

充滿了鮮紅的靈感之泉，

杯沿明滅著珍珠的泡沫，

給嘴唇染上紫斑;

哦，我要一飲而悄然離開塵寰，

和你同去陰暗的林中隱沒。

遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)地、遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)地隱沒，讓我忘掉

你在樹林中從不知道的一切，

忘記這疲勞、熱病和焦躁，

這使人對坐而悲嘆的世界;

在這里，青春蒼白、削瘦、死亡，

而“癱瘓”有幾根白發(fā)在搖擺;

在這里，稍一思索就充滿了

憂傷和灰眼的絕望，

而“美”保持不住明眸的光彩，

新生的愛情活不到明天就枯凋。

去吧!去吧!我要朝你飛去，

不用和酒神坐文豹的車駕，

我要展開詩歌的無形羽翼，

盡管這頭腦已經(jīng)困頓、疲乏;

去了!呵，我已經(jīng)和你同往!

夜這般溫柔，月后正登上寶座，

周圍是侍衛(wèi)她的一群星星;

但這兒卻不甚明亮，

除了有一線天光，被微風(fēng)帶過

蔥綠的幽暗，和苔蘚的曲徑。

我看不出是哪種花草在腳旁，

什么清香的花掛在樹枝上;

在溫馨的幽暗里，我只能猜想

這個時令該把哪種芬芳

賦予這棵樹，林莽和草叢，

這白枳花，和田野的玫瑰，

這綠葉堆中易謝的紫羅蘭，

還有五月中旬的驕寵，

這綴滿了露酒的麝香薔薇，

它成了夏夜蚊蚋的嗡吟的港灣。

我在黑暗里傾聽;呵，多少次

我?guī)缀鯋凵狭遂o謐的死亡，

我在詩里用盡了好的言辭，

求他把我的一息散入空茫;

而現(xiàn)在，哦，死是多么富麗：

在午夜里溘然魂離人間，

當(dāng)你正傾瀉著你的心懷

發(fā)出這般的狂喜!

你仍將歌唱，但我卻不再聽見——

你的葬歌只能唱給泥土一塊。

永生的鳥呵，你不會死去!

饑餓的時代無法將你蹂躪;

今夜，我偶然聽到的歌曲

曾使古代的帝王和村夫喜悅。

或許這同樣的歌也會激蕩

露絲憂郁的心，使她不禁落淚，

站在異邦的谷田里想著家;

就是這聲音常常

在失掉了的仙域里引動窗扉：

一個美女望著大海險惡的浪花。

呵，失掉了!這句話好比一聲鐘

使我猛省到我站腳的地方!

別了!幻想，這騙人的妖童，

不能老耍弄它盛傳的伎倆。

別了!別了!你怨訴的歌聲

流過草坡，越過幽靜的溪水，

溜上山坡;而此時，它正深深

埋在附近的峪谷中：

噫，這是個幻覺，還是夢寐?

那歌聲去了：——我是睡?是醒?