评论
打印
Not what we would, but what we must,
随波逐流，我们习惯坦然，
Makes up the sum of living:
无外乎，生活归纳的深刻，
Heaven is both more and less than just,
苍天在上，接受抑或付出，
In taking and in giving.
区别在于，每人或多或少。
Swords cleave to hands that sought the plow,
刀剑在手，扶动犁铧的大手，
And laurels miss the soldier's brow.
功成名就，乃万骨筑垒铺就。
Me, whom the city holds, whose feet
城市呵，羁绊我的双脚，
Have worn its stony highways,
奔波跋涉，砾石将心磨破，
Familiar with its loneliest street,
空荡无人的街道，熟悉清晰，
Its ways were never my ways.
没有尽头，孤独中云山雾罩。
My cradle was beside the sea,
海滩微风， 荡起我的摇篮，
And there, I hope, my grave will be.
千年沉睡的故乡，魂归何处？
Old homestead! in that old gray town
古老家园，快乐安详小镇，
Thy vane is seaward blowing;
面朝大海，风向旗猎猎地吹，
Thy slip of garden stretches down
乡村沃土，枝桠尽兴舒展，
To where the tide is flowing;
惊涛拍岸，唤醒心底悸颤。
Below they lie, their sails all furled,
风帆卷起，远行人入土为安，
The ships that go about the world.
船只远航，迎风扬起长帆。
Dearer that little country house,
狭仄亲切，那处农家小院，
Inland with pines beside it;
松树环绕，枝干点缀苍翠，
Some peach trees, with unfruitful boughs,
桃花开落，见果实的硕枝，
A well, with weeds to hide it:
井沿旁边，青草茂密森然，
No flowers, or only such as rise
花香难觅，野性蔓延恣意，
Self-sown—poor things!—which all despise.
浑然天成，乡土写满粗粝。
Dear country home! can I forget
难忘家乡，至今无法忘怀，
The least of thy sweet trifles?
往事追忆，点滴郁积胸间。
The window vines that clamber yet,
藤蔓青青，悄然爬满窗前，
Whose blooms the bee still rifles?
花香深处，引来蝶舞蜂旋。
The roadside blackberries, growing ripe,
路边黑莓，芬芳令人心醉，
And in the woods the Indian pipe?
林中夕阳，谁家横笛缠绵？
Happy the man who tills his field,
日作夜息，辛勤耕耘土地，
Content with rustic labor;
春华秋实，丰足纯朴野趣，
Earth does to him her fullness yield,
脚踏实地，采撷劳动收获，
Hap what may to his neighbor.
不会指望，天上掉落馅饼。
Well days, sound nights—oh, can there be
落日长圆，岁月安宁静好，
A life more rational and free?
畅快人生，岂不称心如意？
