Evergreen's Global Life    复制

         花谢花飞花满天，红消香断有谁怜?
         游丝软系飘春树，落絮轻沾扑绣帘。
         闺中女儿惜春暮，愁绪满怀无释处.
         手把花锄出绣闺，忍踏落花来复去?
         柳丝榆荚自芳菲，不管桃飘与李飞。
         桃李明年能再发，明年闺中知有谁?
         三月香巢初垒成，梁间燕子太无情。
         明年花发虽可啄，却不道人去梁空巢也倾。
         一年三百六十日，风刀霜剑严相逼。
         明媚鲜研能几时，一朝飘泊难寻觅。
         花开易见落难寻，阶前愁杀葬花人。
         独倚花锄泪暗洒，洒上空枝见血痕。
         杜鹃无语正黄昏，荷锄归去掩重门.
         青灯照壁人初睡，冷雨敲窗被未温。
         怪侬底事倍伤神，半为怜春半恼春：
         怜春忽至恼忽去，至又无言去不闻。
         昨宵庭外悲歌发，知是花魂与鸟魂?
         花魂鸟魂总难留，鸟自无言花自羞。
         愿侬此日生双翼，随花飞到天尽头。
         天尽头,         何处有香丘?
         未若锦囊收艳骨，一杯净土掩风流。
         质本洁来还洁去，强于污淖陷渠沟。
         尔今死去侬收葬，未卜侬身何日丧?
         侬今葬花人笑痴，他年葬侬知是谁?
         试看春残花渐落，便是红颜老死时。
         一朝春尽红颜老，花落人亡两不知

1).  杨宪益、戴乃迭的译文
As blossoms fade and fly across the sky,
Who pities the faded red, the scent that has been?
Softly the gossamer floats over spring pavilions,
Gently the willow fluff wafts to the embroidered screen.
A girl in her chamber mourns the passing of spring,
No relief from anxiety her poor heart knows;
Hoe in hand she steps through her portal,
Loath to tread on the blossom as she comes and goes.
Willows and elms, fresh and verdant,
Care not if peach and plum blossom drift away;
Next year the peach and plum blossom will bloom again,
But her chamber may stand empty on that day.
By the third month the scented nests are built,
But the swallows on the beam are heartless all;
Next year, though once again you may peck the buds,
From the beam of an empty room your nest will fall.
Each year for three hundred and sixty days
The cutting wind and biting frost contend.
How long can beauty flower fresh and fair?
In a single day wind can whirl it to its end.
Fallen, the brightest blooms are hard to find;
With aching heart their grave-digger comes now
Alone, her hoe in hand, her secret tears
Falling like drops of blood on each bare bough.
Dusk falls and the cuckoo is silent;
Her hoe brought back, the lodge is locked and still;
A green lamp lights the wall as sleep enfolds her,
Cold rain pelts the casement and her quilt is chill.
What causes my two-fold anguish?
Love for spring and resentment of spring;
For suddenly it comes and suddenly goes,
Its arrival unheralded, noiseless its departing.
Last night from the courtyard floated a sad song--
Was it the soul of blossom, the soul of birds,
Hard to detain, the soul of blossom or birds?
For blossoms have no assurance, birds no words.
I long to take wing and fly
With the flowers to earth’s uttermost bound;
And yet at earth’s uttermost bound
Where can a fragrant burial mound be found?
Better shroud the fair petals in silk
With clean earth for their outer attire;
For pure you came and pure shall you go,
Not sinking into some foul ditch or mire.
Now you are dead I come to bury you;
None has divined the day when I shall die;
Men laugh at my folly in burying fallen flowers,
But who will bury me when dead I lie?
See, when spring draws to a close and flowers fall,
This is the season when beauty must ebb and fade;
The day that spring takes wing and beauty fades
Who will care for the fallen blossom or dead maid?

2).
大卫.霍克斯的译文
The blossoms fade and falling fill the air,
Of fragrance and bright hues bereft and bare.
Floss drifts and flutters round the Maiden’s bower,
Or softly strikes against her curtained door.
The Maid, grieved by these signs of spring’s decease,
Seeking some means her sorrow to express,
Has rake in hand into the garden gone,
Before the fallen flowers are trampled on.
Elm-pods and willow-floss are fragrant too;
Why care, Maid, where the fallen flowers blew?
Next year, when peach and plum-tree bloom again,
Which of your sweet companions will remain?
This spring the heartless swallow built his nest
Beneath the eaves of mud with flowers compressed.
Next year the flowers will bloom as before,
But swallow, nest, and Maid will be no more.
Three hundred and three-score the year’s full tale:
From swords of frost and from the slaughtering gale
How can the lovely flowers long stay intact,
Or, once loosed, from their drifting fate draw back?
Blooming so steadfast, fallen so hard to find!
Beside the flowers’ grave, with sorrowing mind,
The solitary Maid sheds many a tear,
Which on the boughs as bloody drops appear.
At twilight, when the cuckoo sings no more,
The Maiden with her rake goes in at door
And lays her down between the lamplit walls,
While a chill rain against the window falls.
I know not why my heart’s so strangely sad,
Half grieving for the spring and half glad:
Glad that it came, grieved it so soon was spent.
So soft it came, so silently it went!
Last night, outside, a mournful sound was heard:
The spirits of the flowers and of the bird.
But neither bird nor flowers would long delay,
Bird lacking speech, and flowers too shy to stay.
And then I wished that I had wings to fly
After the drifting flowers across the sky;
Across the sky to the world’s farthest end,
The flowers’ last fragrant resting-place to find.
But better their remains in silk lay
And bury underneath the wholesome clay,
Pure substances the pure earth to enrich,
Than leave to soak and stink in some foul ditch.
Can I, that these flowers’ obsequies attend,
Divine how soon or late my life will end?
Let others laugh flower-burial to see:
Another year who will be burying me?
As petals drop and spring begins to fail,
The bloom of youth, too, sickens and turns pale.
One day, when spring has gone and youth has fled,
The Maiden and the flowers will both be dead

3).许渊冲译文
As flowers fall and fly across the skies,
Who rues the red that fades, the scent that dies?
Softly the gossamer floats over bowers green;
Gently the willow fluff wafts to broidered screen.
In my chamber I’m grieved to see spring depart.
Where can I pour out my sorrow-laden heart?
I step out of my portal with a hoe.
On fallen petals could I come and go?
Willow threads and elms leaves are fresh and gay;
They care not if peach and plum blossom drift away.
The peach and plum will bloom next year.
But my chamber who will then appear?
By the third moon the swallows built their nest,
But apathetically on the beam they rest.
Next year though they may peck the buds again,
O in my empty chamber can their nest remain?
For three hundred and sixty days each year,
The cutting wind and biting frost make flowers sear.
How long can they blossom fresh and fair?
Once blown away, they cannot be found anywhere.
Their gravedigger, I find no flowers in bloom;
My aching heart is further filled with gloom.
With hoe in hand, tears secretly shed
Like drops of blood turn bare branches red.
As twilight falls, the cuckoos sing no more;
I come back with my hoe and close the door.
Abed in dim-lit room when night is still,
I hear cold rain and my quilt feels damp and chill.
I wonder why I’m thrown in such a fret:
Is it for love of spring or for regret?
I love it when it comes, regret it when it goes;
But spring comes and goes mute as water flows.
Last night from the courtyard a dirge was heard,
Sung by the soul of flower and of bird.
The bird’s and flower’s soul is hard to detain;
The flowers blush and silent birds remain.
I long on wings to fly
With the flowers to the end of the earth and sky.
At earth’s uttermost bound,
Where can I find a fragrant burial mound?
Why don’t I shroud in silken bag the petals fair
And bury them in the earth forever to mingle there?
Pure they come and pure shall go,
Not sinking to oblivion below.
Now they are dead, I come to bury them today.
Who can divine the date when I shall pass away?
Men laugh at my folly in burying fallen flowers.
But who will bury me when come my last hours?
See spring depart and flowers wither by and by.
This is the time when beauty must grow old and die.
Once spring is gone and beauty dead, alas!
Who will care for the fallen bloom and buried lass?