(Untitled)
Wordsworth
Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay,no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant—
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind’s least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak—though this soft warm heart,once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures,thine and mine,
Be left more desolate,more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird’s-nest filled with snow
’Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
Speak,that my torturing doubts their end may know!
致远方朋友
华兹华斯 林水云风译
你为什么沉默,莫非你的爱
是一朵娇嫩的鲜花,今朝
任残风凋杀,落得枯萎飘零?
莫非你无情债可念,亦无恩义可表?
但我,日日夜夜把你思盼,
只想做你的仆人,甘为你效劳,
我有如乞丐,只剩一点奢望,
那就是望得你只言片语慰我一笑——
说吧,我的这颗柔心,曾一度
幸福地盛满了你的百媚千娇,
早已经落得比那弃在枯槁的
蔷薇丛中积满了冰雪的空鸟巢
还要孤独,还要凄凉,
说吧,别再让我受这痛苦的煎熬!
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