I dug, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin’s grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst* thy false affection gave.
I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose’s fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.
Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere* yet the evening sun was set:
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.
注：erst*formerly
Ere* before
One fond kiss, and then we sever!
One farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I will pledge you,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, no cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around overtakes me.
I will never blame my partial fancy:
Nothing could resist my Nancy!
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved so kindly,
Had we never loved so blindly,
Never met - or never parted -
We had never been broken-hearted.
Fare-you-well, you first and fairest!
Fare-you-well, you best and dearest!
Yours be every joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
One fond kiss, and then we sever!
One farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I will pledge you,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
─Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and ,oh,
The difference to me!
《四》
我不会挂念
萨拉·梯斯代尔Sara Teasdale
点评
虽然责怪爱人狠心、冷淡，却相信自己一死便会报以更甚的狠心、冷淡，便会让他痛断肝肠。正所谓爱之深恨之也切。
等我离开人间，
四月明媚的阳光对我把淋湿的头发披散，
尽管你扒在我的身上肝肠寸断，
我也不会挂念。
我将拥有宁静，
与那长满绿叶的树木一般，
当雨水压弯它的枝条，
我将比你现在还要狠心、冷淡。
I Shall Not Care
WHEN I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.
I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep；
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face；
And bending beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars．
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?