【濟慈《TO AUTUMN 致秋天》新譯】


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分类: Poetry詩歌 |
TO AUTUMN
John Keats
I.
Season of mists
and mellow fruitfulness,
Close
bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with
him how to load and bless
With fruit the
vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with
apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all
fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the
gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet
kernel; to set budding more,
And still more,
later flowers for the bees,
Until they think
warm days will never cease,
For Summer has
o’er-brimmed their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen
thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever
seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting
careless on a granary-floor,
Thy hair
soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a
half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the
fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next
swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes
like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden
head across a brook;
Or by a
cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest
the last oozings hours by hours.
III
Where are the
songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of
them, thou hast thy music too, –
While barred
clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the
stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful
choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river
sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the
light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown
lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets
sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast
whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering
swallows twitter in the skies.
Written by John Keats
(1819.09.19)