诗歌英文翻译
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发布时间：2022-04-23 15:05
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时间：2023-10-05 08:05
葬花吟 乡愁我不是给你了吗
葬花吟
Flowers fade and fly, and flying fill the sky; Their bloom departs, their perfume gone, yet who stands pitying by? And wandering threads of gossamer on the summer-house are seen, And falling catkins lightly dew-steeped strike the embroidered screen. A girl within the inner rooms, I mourn that spring is done, A veil of sorrow binds my heart, and solace there is none. I pass into the garden, and I turn to use my hoe, Treading over fallen glories as I lightly come and go. There are willow-sprays and flowers of elm, and these have scent enough. I care not if the peach and plum, are stripped from every bough. The peach-tree and the plum-tree too next year may bloom again, But next year, in the inner rooms, tell me, shall I remain? By the third moon new fragrant nests shall see the light of day, New swallows fly among the beams, each on its thoughtless way. Next year once more they'll seek their food among the painted flowers, But I may go, and beams may go, and with them swallow bowers. Three hundred days and sixty make a year, and therein lurk Daggers of wind and swords of frost to do their cruel work. How long will last the fair fresh flower which bright and brighter glows? One morning its petals float away, but to where no-one knows. Gay bloooming buds attract the eye, faded they're lost to sight; Oh, let me sadly bury them beside these steps tonight. Alone, unseen, I seize my hoe, with many a bitter tear; They fall upon the naked stem and stains of blood appear. The night-jar now has ceased to mourn, the dawn comes on apace, I seize my hoe and close the gates, leaving the burying-place; But not until sunbeams dot the wall does slumber soothe my care, The cold rain pattering on the pane as I lie shivering there. You wonder that with flowing tears my youthful cheek is wet; They partly rise from angry thoughts, and partly from regret. Regret that spring comes suddenly; and anger that it cannot last. No sound to announce its approach, or warn us when it's passed. Last night within the garden sad songs were faintly heard, Sung, as I knew, by spirits, spirits of flower and bird. We cannot keep them here with us, these much-loved birds and flowers, They sing but for a season's space, and bloom a few short hours. If only I on a feathered wing might soar aloft and fly, With flower spirits I would seek the rooms within the sky. But high in the air What grave is there? No, give me an embroidered bag within to lay their charms, And Mother Earth, pure Mother Earth, shall hide them in her arms. Thus those sweet forms which spotless came shall spotless go again, Nor pass dirty with mud and filth along some filthy drain. Farewell, dear flowes, forever now, thus buried as was best, I have not yet divined when I with you shall sink to rest. I who can bury flowers like this a laughing-stock shall be; I cannot say in days to come what hands shall bury me. See how when spring begins to fail each opening flower fades; So too there is a time of age and death for beautiful maids; And when the fleeting spring is gone, and days of beauty over, Flowers fall, and lovely maidens die, and both are known no more.
乡愁
The hometown song is a pure distant flute
Always in has moon's evening to resound
The hometown appearance is actually one kind of fuzzy listlessness
In the fog waves the hand as if leaves depart
After leaving
The nostalgia is one does not have the annual ring tree
Never dies of old age
热心网友
时间：2023-10-05 08:05
Song of the Burial of Flowers葬花吟
by Cao Xueqin [Qing Dynasty] (清) 曹雪芹
Flowers fade and fall and fly about up in the sky,
But who pities the loss of your fragrance when you die?
花谢花飞飞满天，红绡香断有谁怜？
Like gossamer you float and land on pavilions,
With your fallen petals clung soft to fine curtains.
游丝软系飘春榭，落絮轻沾扑绣帘。
In my boudoir I sigh over the close of spring,
But there’s no way to express my sorrowful feeling.
闺中女儿惜春暮，愁绪满怀无处诉。
Spade in hand, I go out from under my fine curtain,
To and fro on fallen petals, how can I bear treading?
手把花锄出绣帘，忍踏落花来复去。
Willow twigs and elm buds send sweet scents as they may,
Who cares when peach and plum petals are in decay?
柳丝榆荚自芳菲，不管桃飘与李飞。
Next year peach and plum trees will be in bloom again,
But who will be the master of my boudoir then?
桃李明年能再发，明岁闺中知是谁？
In March lunar swallows have got their nests ready,
They on the beam seem to be those without mercy.
三月香巢初垒成，梁间燕子太无情！
Next year in their flight, fresh flowers they may peck, though,
All that they and I have will be lost, they never know.
明年花发虽可啄，却不道人去梁空巢也倾！
There are three hundred and sixty days in one year,
With you the elements of nature are severe.
一年三百六十日，风刀霜剑严相*。
Time is not long for you to be bright and charming,
Your trace and track are hard to find in your drifting.
明媚鲜妍能几时，一朝飘泊难寻觅。
You are easy to see when open but hard when fallen,
Before the stairs I am worried where to find your remains.
花开易见落难寻，阶前愁杀葬花人。
Against the spade I lean and in secret weep sudden,
Splashed on your bare branches are my tears like bloodstains.
独把花锄偷洒泪，洒上空枝见血痕。
The cuckoo ceases its warbling at twilight,
With my spade I return and shut the doors tight.
杜鹃无语正黄昏，荷锄归去掩重门。
I go to bed with a lone oil lamp still shining,
My quilt is not warm when a cold rain is falling.
青灯照壁人初睡，冷雨敲窗被未温。
I feel at heart it is a matter quite nerve-racking,
For I like spring or I feel sad over its leaving.
怪侬底事倍伤神，半为怜春半恼春。
Spring I love and my sorrow repair at a fast pace,
They come silent and go without leaving a trace.
怜春忽至恼忽去，至又无语去不闻。
Last night beyond pavilions sad song seemed rising,
Was it the souls of flowers or birds that were singing?
昨宵庭外悲歌奏，知是花魂与鸟魂？
It is always hard to ask their souls to stay behind,
That birds are silent and flowers feel ashamed, I find.
花魂鸟魂总难留，鸟自无语花自羞。
I wish to have two wings under my arms to fly,
After you unto the farthest end of the sky.
愿侬此日生双翼，随花飞到天尽头。
At the farthest end of the sky,
Where can I find the grave of your fragrance lie?
天尽头！何处有香丘？
Better in silk to shroud your petals fair,
With a handful of clean earth as your attire.
未若锦囊收艳骨，一杯净土掩风流。
For pure you have come and pure you repair,
Lest you fall into some foul ditch or mire.
质本洁来还洁去，强于污淖陷渠沟。
I hold a burial when you die today,
But there’s no telling when I pass away.
尔今死去侬收葬，未卜侬身何日丧？
Others laugh at me that have buried thee,
Who will be the one that shall bury me?
侬今葬花人笑痴，他年葬侬知是谁？
The end of spring makes flowers fall one by one,
It’s also the time when beauty meets its doom.
试看春残花渐落，便是红颜老死时。
Once beauty is carried to its very tomb,
Both beauty and flowers perish known to none.
一朝春尽红颜老，花落人亡两不知！
The poet and the background note:
乡愁
The hometown song is a pure distant flute
Always in has moon's evening to resound
The hometown appearance is actually one kind of fuzzy listlessness
In the fog waves the hand as if leaves depart
After leaving
The nostalgia is one does not have the annual ring tree
Never dies of old age
只知道这些
热心网友
时间：2023-10-05 08:06
葬花吟
Flowers fade and fly, and flying fill the sky; Their bloom departs, their perfume gone, yet who stands pitying by? And wandering threads of gossamer on the summer-house are seen, And falling catkins lightly dew-steeped strike the embroidered screen. A girl within the inner rooms, I mourn that spring is done, A veil of sorrow binds my heart, and solace there is none. I pass into the garden, and I turn to use my hoe, Treading over fallen glories as I lightly come and go. There are willow-sprays and flowers of elm, and these have scent enough. I care not if the peach and plum, are stripped from every bough. The peach-tree and the plum-tree too next year may bloom again, But next year, in the inner rooms, tell me, shall I remain? By the third moon new fragrant nests shall see the light of day, New swallows fly among the beams, each on its thoughtless way. Next year once more they'll seek their food among the painted flowers, But I may go, and beams may go, and with them swallow bowers. Three hundred days and sixty make a year, and therein lurk Daggers of wind and swords of frost to do their cruel work. How long will last the fair fresh flower which bright and brighter glows? One morning its petals float away, but to where no-one knows. Gay bloooming buds attract the eye, faded they're lost to sight; Oh, let me sadly bury them beside these steps tonight. Alone, unseen, I seize my hoe, with many a bitter tear; They fall upon the naked stem and stains of blood appear. The night-jar now has ceased to mourn, the dawn comes on apace, I seize my hoe and close the gates, leaving the burying-place; But not until sunbeams dot the wall does slumber soothe my care, The cold rain pattering on the pane as I lie shivering there. You wonder that with flowing tears my youthful cheek is wet; They partly rise from angry thoughts, and partly from regret. Regret that spring comes suddenly; and anger that it cannot last. No sound to announce its approach, or warn us when it's passed. Last night within the garden sad songs were faintly heard, Sung, as I knew, by spirits, spirits of flower and bird. We cannot keep them here with us, these much-loved birds and flowers, They sing but for a season's space, and bloom a few short hours. If only I on a feathered wing might soar aloft and fly, With flower spirits I would seek the rooms within the sky. But high in the air What grave is there? No, give me an embroidered bag within to lay their charms, And Mother Earth, pure Mother Earth, shall hide them in her arms. Thus those sweet forms which spotless came shall spotless go again, Nor pass dirty with mud and filth along some filthy drain. Farewell, dear flowes, forever now, thus buried as was best, I have not yet divined when I with you shall sink to rest. I who can bury flowers like this a laughing-stock shall be; I cannot say in days to come what hands shall bury me. See how when spring begins to fail each opening flower fades; So too there is a time of age and death for beautiful maids; And when the fleeting spring is gone, and days of beauty over, Flowers fall, and lovely maidens die, and both are known no more.
乡愁
The hometown song is a pure distant flute
Always in has moon's evening to resound
The hometown appearance is actually one kind of fuzzy listlessness
In the fog waves the hand as if leaves depart
After leaving
The nostalgia is one does not have the annual ring tree
Never dies of old age
热心网友
时间：2023-10-05 08:06
Crazy
