园丁集 第十二章（6）（2/2）
《园丁集》作者：（印度）泰戈尔（Tagore，… 2017-04-14 03:38
o the man’s face with a tender trust, and the man looks down into its eyes with amused affection.
It seems that the two friends meet masked and vaguely know each other through the disguise.
The Gardener 80
With a glance of your eyes you could plunder all the wealth of songs struck from poets’ harps, fair woman!
But for their praises you have no ear, therefore I come to praise you.
You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world.
But it is your loved ones, unknown to fame, whom you choose to worship, therefore I worship you.
The perfection of your arms would add glory to kingly splendour with their touch.
But you use them to sweep away the dust, and to make clean your humble home, therefore I am filled with awe.
The Gardener 81
Why do you whisper so faintly in my ears, O Death, my Death?
When the flowers droop in the evening and cattle come back to their stalls, you stealthily come to my side and speak words that I do not understand.
Is this how you must woo and win me with the opiate of drowsy murmur and cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
Will there be no proud ceremony for our wedding?
Will you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks?
Is there none to carry your banner before you, and will not the night be on fire with your red torch-lights, O Death, my Death?
Come with your conch-shells sounding, come in the sleepless night.
Dress me with a crimson mantle, grasp my hand and take me.
It seems that the two friends meet masked and vaguely know each other through the disguise.
The Gardener 80
With a glance of your eyes you could plunder all the wealth of songs struck from poets’ harps, fair woman!
But for their praises you have no ear, therefore I come to praise you.
You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world.
But it is your loved ones, unknown to fame, whom you choose to worship, therefore I worship you.
The perfection of your arms would add glory to kingly splendour with their touch.
But you use them to sweep away the dust, and to make clean your humble home, therefore I am filled with awe.
The Gardener 81
Why do you whisper so faintly in my ears, O Death, my Death?
When the flowers droop in the evening and cattle come back to their stalls, you stealthily come to my side and speak words that I do not understand.
Is this how you must woo and win me with the opiate of drowsy murmur and cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
Will there be no proud ceremony for our wedding?
Will you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks?
Is there none to carry your banner before you, and will not the night be on fire with your red torch-lights, O Death, my Death?
Come with your conch-shells sounding, come in the sleepless night.
Dress me with a crimson mantle, grasp my hand and take me.