Ⅰ
I
他消逝于寒冬时节：
He disappeared in the dead of winter:
溪流封冻，机场迹近荒芜，
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
积雪模糊了露天雕像的身形；
And snow disfigured the public statues;
水银柱沉入了弥留之际的口唇。
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
我们许可了怎样的仪器
What instruments we have agree
他死去的那天如此阴暗凄冷。
The day of his death was a dark cold day.
远离了他的疾病，
Far from his illness
狼群继续奔行在常绿的森林，
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
农夫之河不曾受时髦码头的诱引；
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
悲痛的语言已令
By mourning tongues
诗人之死与他的诗篇泾渭分明。
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.
但对于他，这是他自己最后的下午，
But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
一个被护士和谣言包围的下午；
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
他身体的各省已叛乱，
The provinces of his body revolted,
他意识的广场空空如也，
The squares of his mind were empty,
寂静侵入了郊区，
Silence invaded the suburbs,
知觉的脉流已停歇；他汇入了他的景仰者。
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.
此刻，在一百座城市间被传诵，
Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
他全然置身于那些陌生的爱意，
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
要在另一座树林里找寻他的快乐，
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
还须领受异域良知法则的惩治。
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
一个死者的言辞
The words of a dead man
将在活人的肺腑间被改写。
Are modified in the guts of the living.
而在未来的显要与喧嚣中，
But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
当经纪人在交易所的场子里如野兽般嘶吼，
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
当穷人对他们身受的种种苦难已习以为常，
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
当每个身在自我牢狱中的人几乎确信他的自由，
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
数以千计的人仍会想起这个日子
A few thousand will think of this day
如同会想起某天，当做了稍不寻常的事。
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.
我们许可了怎样的仪器
他死去的那天如此阴暗凄冷。
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.
Ⅱ
II
你像我们一样愚钝，你的天赋挽救了一切：
贵妇人的教区，肉身的衰败，你自己。
You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
疯狂的爱尔兰刺激你沉浸于诗艺。
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
而今爱尔兰的癫狂和天气依然如故，
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
因为诗歌不会让任何事发生：它在官吏们
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
从未打算干预的自造的山谷里得以存续，
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
从那些与世隔绝的忙碌而哀伤的牧场、
In the valley of its making where executives
从那些我们信任且将终老于斯的阴冷市镇
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
一路向南方流淌；它将幸存，
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
以偶然的方式，在某个入海口。
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.
Ⅲ
III
大地，请接纳一位尊贵的客人：
威廉·叶芝已长眠安枕。
Earth, receive an honoured guest:
让这个爱尔兰佬躺下
William Yeats is laid to rest.
倾献出他的全部技艺。
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.
在黑夜的梦魇里
全欧洲的狗狂吠不已，
In the nightmare of the dark
活着的人族等待着，
All the dogs of Europe bark,
怀着憎恨彼此相隔；
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;
智力所受的羞辱，
在每个人的表情里透露，
Intellectual disgrace
而每一只惊愕的眼睛
Stares from every human face,
都藏含了无尽的悲悯。
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
跟着，诗人，跟着走
直至暗夜的尽头，
Follow, poet, follow right
用你无拘无束的声音
To the bottom of the night,
让我们相信犹有欢欣；
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;
用诗句的耕耘奉献
将诅咒变成一座葡萄园，
With the farming of a verse
歌唱人类的不成功，
Make a vineyard of the curse,
苦中来作乐；
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;
在心灵的荒漠中
让治愈的甘泉开始流涌，
In the deserts of the heart
在他岁月的囚笼中
Let the healing fountain start,
教会自由的人如何称颂。
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.