tōng guò lǜ sè jīng guǎn cuī dòng huā duǒ de lì The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
shīrén: dí lán · tuō mǎ sī Dylan Thomas
tōng guò lǜ sè jīng guǎn cuī dòng huā duǒ de lì
cuī dòng wǒ de lǜ sè nián huá， huǐ miè shù gēn de lì
yě shì hài wǒ de guì zǐ shǒu。
wǒ jiān mò bù yǔ， wú fǎ gào sù gōulóu de méi guī
zhèng shì zhè tóng yàng de dōng tiān zhī rè bìng huǐ sǔn liǎo wǒ de qīng chūn。
cuī dòng quán shuǐ jǐ guò yán féng de lì cuī dòng
wǒ xiān hóng de xuè yè； nà shǐ xù dāo de xiǎo xī gān hé de lì
shǐ wǒ de xuè yè níng gù。
wǒ jiān mò bù yǔ， wú fǎ duì wǒ de mài guǎn zhāng kǒu，
tóng yī shuāng zuǐ chún zěn yàng xī gān liǎo shān quán。
jiǎo dòng zhe yī hóng chí shuǐ de nà yī zhǐ shǒu
jiǎo dòng qǐ liú shā； qiān yǐn kuáng fēng de shǒu
chě dòng wǒ de shī bù chuán fān。
wǒ jiān mò bù yǔ， wú fǎ gào sù zǒu shàng jiǎo jià de rén
wǒ de ròu tǐ zhì chéng liǎo jiǎo xíng lì de huá shí fěn。
shí jiān de zuǐ chún xiàng shuǐ zhì shǔn xī zhe quán yuán，
ài qíng dī luò yòu níng jù， dàn liú xià xuè yè
jiāng fǔ wèi tā de chuàng xián。
wǒ jiān mò bù yǔ， wú fǎ gào sù biàn huàn bù dìng de fēng 'ér
shí jiān zěn yàng huán rào zhe fán xīng záo chū yī gè tiān qióng。
wǒ jiān mò bù yǔ， wú fǎ gào sù qíng rén de mù xué
wǒ de chuáng dān shàng yě rú dòng zhe yī yàng de jū chóng。
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm. |
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