吉檀迦利 第六章（1）（2/2）
《飞鸟集》作者：罗宾德拉纳特·泰戈尔 (Ra… 2017-04-13 14:19
会再要玩偶的装饰品了
53. Sword剑
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death; it shines like the pure flame of being burning up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry gems; but thy sword, o lord of thunder, is wrought with uttermost beauty, terrible to behold or think of.
I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant， and the women had gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted,”Come with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.”But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low——”Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.” I started up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.
你的手镯真是美丽，镶着星辰，精巧地嵌着五光十色的珠宝。但我觉得你的宝剑才是最美的，那弯曲的光芒像毗湿奴的神鸟展开的双翼，完美地平悬在落日怒发的红光里。
它颤抖着像人之将死时的最后一击，痛苦昏迷中的最后反应。它闪耀着像将烬的世情之纯焰，最后猛烈地一闪。
你的手镯真是美丽，星星点点嵌满宝石。但是你的宝剑，呵，雷霆的主，铸得美丽非凡，看到想到的都是可畏。
53. Sword剑
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death; it shines like the pure flame of being burning up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry gems; but thy sword, o lord of thunder, is wrought with uttermost beauty, terrible to behold or think of.
I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant， and the women had gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted,”Come with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.”But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low——”Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.” I started up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.
你的手镯真是美丽，镶着星辰，精巧地嵌着五光十色的珠宝。但我觉得你的宝剑才是最美的，那弯曲的光芒像毗湿奴的神鸟展开的双翼，完美地平悬在落日怒发的红光里。
它颤抖着像人之将死时的最后一击，痛苦昏迷中的最后反应。它闪耀着像将烬的世情之纯焰，最后猛烈地一闪。
你的手镯真是美丽，星星点点嵌满宝石。但是你的宝剑，呵，雷霆的主，铸得美丽非凡，看到想到的都是可畏。