夜莺与玫瑰最全英文原文及林徽因译文word版本
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2021年01月19日 01:48
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表白词-过中秋节
夜
莺
与
玫
瑰
最
全
英
文
原
文
及
林
徽
因
译
文
精品文档
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE
roses,
rose.
From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and
she looked out through the leaves and wondered.
filled with tears.
have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of
philosophy are mine, yet for want (
没有
) of a red rose is my life
made wretched.
night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night
have I told his story to the stars and now I see him. His hair is dark
as the hyacinth(
风信子
)-- blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of
his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow
has set her seal upon his brow.
舞会
) to-morrow night,
the young student,
her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red
rose, I should hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon
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my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no
red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by.
She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.
sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a
wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds (
翡翠
), and
dearer than fine opals (
蛋白石
). Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy
it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of
the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.
the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that
her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses
will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no
red rose to give her:
buried his face in his hands, and wept.
past him with his tail in the air.
a sunbeam.
low voice.
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little Lizard, who was something of a cynic (
愤世嫉俗者
), laughed
outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student
’
s
sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the
mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into
the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a
shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the center of the grass- plot was standing a beautiful Rose-
tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
sweetest song.
But the Tree shook its head.
sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my
brother who grows round the old sun-dial (
一种玫瑰
), and perhaps
he will give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
round the old sun-dial.
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sweetest song.
But the Tree shook its head.
the mermaiden (
美人鱼
) who sits upon an amber throne, and
yellower than the daffodil (
黄水仙
) that blooms in the meadow
before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who
grows beneath the Student
’
s window, and perhaps he will give you
what you want.
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
beneath the Student
’
s window.
sweetest song.
But the Tree shook its head.
and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has
nipped (
摧残
) my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and
I shall have no roses at all this year.
red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?
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dare not tell it to you.
music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart
’
s blood. You
must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you
must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-
blood must flow into me veins, and become mine.
Nightingale,
green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot (
战车
) of gold, and
the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn,
and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather
that blows on the hill. Yet love is better than Life, and what is the
heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the
air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she
sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had
left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it
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with my own heart
’
s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you
will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy (
哲学
),
though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty.
Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body.
His lips are sweet as homey, and his breath is like frankincense.
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he
could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he
only knew the things that are written down in books.
But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond
of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches.
when you are gone.
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like
water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled
a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
the grove
—
am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style without
any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks
merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still,
it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.
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What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical
good!
bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew
to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long
she sang, with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal
Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the
thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood
ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.
And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a
marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale
was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river
—
pale as the feet
of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow
of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool,
so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the
thorn.
will come before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder
and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the
soul of a man and a maid.
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And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose,
like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of
the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose
’
s
heart remained white, for only a Nightingale
’
s he
art’s blood can
crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the
thorn.
will come before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the
thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.
Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for
she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies
not in the tomb.
And the marvelous rose became crimson (
猩红
), like the rose of
the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a
ruby (
红宝石
) was the heart.
But the Nightingale
’
voice grew fainter, and her little wings
began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter
grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it,
and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose
heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals
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