诗人
The Poets[发在此处希望文坛密友给予修改帮助，拜托弟弟们了]
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O ye dead Poets, who are living still
Immortal in your verse, though life be fled,
And ye, O living Poets, who are dead
Though ye are living, if neglect can kill,
Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill,
With drops of anguish falling fast and red
From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head
Ye were not glad your errand to fulfill?
Yes; for the gift and ministry of Song
Have something in them so divinely sweet,
It can assuage the bitterness of wrong;
Not in the clamour of the crowded street,
Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,
But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
有的诗人死了，他还活着
在你不朽诗里，虽然生命不再
有的诗人活着，他已死了
尽管一息尚存，却已被人忽略
告诉我在你最不幸的时候
滴滴痛苦快速流过
锐利的荆棘伤你满头鲜血
难道说你不满足取得硕果？
是啊，你那咏颂的天赋
在歌声中注入甜蜜的庄严
他能减轻诽谤的痛苦
却不能拂去满街的喧闹
不能排除人群的欢呼与尖叫
但能拂去我们的失败和骄傲
此诗是诗人的一生的最后写照。臧克家的有的人与前几句相同。互文吧！
页:
[1]