I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

我肃穆地端起了我沉重的心，

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

象当年希腊女儿捧着那坛尸灰；

And, looking in thine eyes, I over-turn

眼望着你，我把灰撒在你脚下。

The ashes at thy feet.  Behold and see

请看呀，有多大一堆悲哀埋藏在

What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

我这心坎里；而在那灰暗的深处，

And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

那惨红的灰烬又怎样在隐约燃烧。

Through the ashen greyness.  If thy foot in scorn

要是那点点火星给你鄙夷地

Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

一脚踏灭、还它们一片黑暗，

It might be well perhaps.  But if instead

这样也好。可是，你偏不，

Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

你要守在我身旁，等风来把尘土

The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,

扬起，把死灰吹活；爱呀，那戴在

O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,

你头上的桂冠可不能给你做屏障，

That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

保护你不让这一片火焰烧坏了

The hair beneath.  Stand further off then! go!

那底下的发丝。快站远些呀，快走！