加载中…Andrew Marvell：To His Coy Mistress
(2017-09-30 11:20:44)致他娇羞的女友(To His Coy Mistress)
安德鲁·马维尔（Andrew Marvell）
假如我们有足够的世界和足够的时间，
女士啊，你这样的娇羞便算不得罪愆。
我们可以坐下来，想想该在哪条路上
消磨我们漫长的爱恋。
你可以在恒河的岸上寻觅宝石，
我可以在亨伯河边幽幽哀叹；
我可以在灭绝世界的洪水来临之前
爱上你，你可以拒绝，或者接受，
就在末日审判的当天。
我那植物的爱情缓慢滋长，
超出了所有伟大帝国的辉煌版图。
让我用一百年赞美你的眼，凝视你的眉，
用二百年崇拜你的胸，用三万年的时间慢慢爱遍你身上的每一寸肌肤。
偏偏把你的心留待最后触摸，
只有这样的排场才不致把你辱没。
但我总是听到，背后隆隆逼近的时间的战车，
而我们面前，却只有一片无边的苍凉的大漠。
在那里，你的美已经荒芜难寻，
你那汉白玉的寝宫里再不会回荡我的歌声；
却是蛆虫染指你苦心捍卫的贞洁，
化做尘土的，是你那无谓的荣名。
那时我的情欲也尽化成灰了，
坟墓虽然幽隐自在，
但我想，没有人会在那里相爱。
所以啊，趁青春还在，
趁你的肌肤正如清晨的雨露，
趁你的灵魂还能飞升起舞，
何不放任我们胸中的火焰，
何不放任我们像一对热烈的猛禽那样彼此奉献。
宁可如烟花绽放一瞬，
胜过在缓慢的时间中缓慢凋萎。
用我们全副的力气和全副的爱意，
冲破铁门，释放自已；
虽然我们没办法停住时间，
却可以让时间为我们飞转。
To His Coy Mistress
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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