诗集摊在膝头,少年的嗓音还带着孩童的稚嫩: I thought once how Theocritus had sung 我想起,当年希腊的诗人曾经歌咏: Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, 年复一年,那良辰在殷切的盼望中 Who each one in a gracious hand appears 翩然降临,各自带一份礼物 To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: 分送给世人--年老或是年少。 And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 当我这么想,感叹着诗人的古调, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, 穿过我泪眼所逐渐展开的幻觉, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, 我看见,那欢乐的岁月、哀伤的岁月-- Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 我自己的年华,把一片片黑影接连着 A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 掠过我的身。紧接着,我就觉察 So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move (我哭了)我背后正有个神秘的黑影 Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; 在移动,而且一把揪住了我的发, And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, -- 往后拉,还有一声吆喝(我只是在挣扎): ‘Guess now who holds thee?' – ‘Death.' I said. But, there “这回是谁逮住了你?猜!”“死,”我答话。 The silver answer rang, -- ‘Not Death, but love.' 听哪,那银铃似的回音:“不是死,是爱!” —————————————————————勃朗宁夫人十四行诗