飞鸟集 第四章（1）（2/2）
《飞鸟集》作者：罗宾德拉纳特·泰戈尔 (Ra… 2017-04-13 14:19
间的灯火甚于他自己的巨星。
这世界是被优美的音乐所驯服了的狂风暴雨的世界。
晚霞对落日说：“被你亲吻后，我的心好像黄金宝箱。”
接触也许会让你受伤；远离也许会独善其身。
蟋蟀的啁啾，夜雨的吧嗒，穿越黑暗传至我的耳边，仿佛我逝去的青春蓦地来到我的梦境中。
花儿对着繁星落尽的晨空哭喊：“我的露珠全丢了。”
燃烧着的木材发出熊熊火焰，喊道：“这是我的花儿，我的死亡。”
黄蜂认为邻居蜜蜂的蜂巢太小。 它的邻人要它去造一个更小的。
河岸对河流说：“我留不住你的浪花，就让我把你的足迹留在心里吧。”
白昼，以及这小小星球的喧嚣，淹没了整个宇宙的沉默。
歌声在天空中感到无限，图画在大地上感到无限，而诗，无论在空中，还是在地上都感到无限。 因为诗的语言会舞动，诗的音韵会飞翔。
夕阳西下，清晨的东方已默默地站在面前了。
Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me.
Praise shames me, for I secreatly beg for it.
Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth.
The best does not come alone It comes with the company the all
God right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.
My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language which my morning stars did not know.
Night’s darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life.
God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man’s hands.
My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.
这世界是被优美的音乐所驯服了的狂风暴雨的世界。
晚霞对落日说：“被你亲吻后，我的心好像黄金宝箱。”
接触也许会让你受伤；远离也许会独善其身。
蟋蟀的啁啾，夜雨的吧嗒，穿越黑暗传至我的耳边，仿佛我逝去的青春蓦地来到我的梦境中。
花儿对着繁星落尽的晨空哭喊：“我的露珠全丢了。”
燃烧着的木材发出熊熊火焰，喊道：“这是我的花儿，我的死亡。”
黄蜂认为邻居蜜蜂的蜂巢太小。 它的邻人要它去造一个更小的。
河岸对河流说：“我留不住你的浪花，就让我把你的足迹留在心里吧。”
白昼，以及这小小星球的喧嚣，淹没了整个宇宙的沉默。
歌声在天空中感到无限，图画在大地上感到无限，而诗，无论在空中，还是在地上都感到无限。 因为诗的语言会舞动，诗的音韵会飞翔。
夕阳西下，清晨的东方已默默地站在面前了。
Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me.
Praise shames me, for I secreatly beg for it.
Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth.
The best does not come alone It comes with the company the all
God right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.
My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language which my morning stars did not know.
Night’s darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life.
God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man’s hands.
My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.