作业帮请教徐志摩先生在《翡冷翠的一夜》中提到的济慈诗的英文原文
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请教徐志摩先生在《翡冷翠的一夜》中提到的济慈诗的英文原文
徐先生的翻译是“不像是叶子那么长上树枝,那还不如不来的好.”
请教英文原文 如有全诗见赠 更佳
徐先生的翻译是“不像是叶子那么长上树枝,那还不如不来的好.”
请教英文原文 如有全诗见赠 更佳
………………
Ah,happy,happy boughs!that cannot shed
Your leaves,nor ever bid the Spring adieu;……
《Ode on a Grecian Urn》
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian,who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals,or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these?What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit?What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels?What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet,but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore,ye soft pipes,play on;
Not to the sensual ear,but,more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth,beneath the trees,thou canst not leave
Thy song,nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover,never,never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet,do not grieve;
She cannot fade,though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love,and she be fair!
Ah,happy,happy boughs!that cannot shed
Your leaves,nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And,happy melodist,unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love!more happy,happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting,and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead,and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar,O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk,this pious morn?
And,little town,thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul,to tell
Why thou art desolate,can e'er return.
O Attic shape!fair attitude!with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou,silent form!dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity:Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain,in midst of other woe
Than ours,a friend to man,to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth,truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth,and all ye need to know.
你还真幸运,我刚在看Keats的书咧!
Ah,happy,happy boughs!that cannot shed
Your leaves,nor ever bid the Spring adieu;……
《Ode on a Grecian Urn》
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian,who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals,or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these?What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit?What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels?What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet,but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore,ye soft pipes,play on;
Not to the sensual ear,but,more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth,beneath the trees,thou canst not leave
Thy song,nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover,never,never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet,do not grieve;
She cannot fade,though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love,and she be fair!
Ah,happy,happy boughs!that cannot shed
Your leaves,nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And,happy melodist,unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love!more happy,happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting,and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead,and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar,O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk,this pious morn?
And,little town,thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul,to tell
Why thou art desolate,can e'er return.
O Attic shape!fair attitude!with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou,silent form!dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity:Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain,in midst of other woe
Than ours,a friend to man,to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth,truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth,and all ye need to know.
你还真幸运,我刚在看Keats的书咧!