Tonight the moon, by languorous memories obsessed,
今夜,月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中,
Lies pensive and awake: a sleepless beauty amid
像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人,
The tossed and multitudinous cushions of her bed,
在入寐以前,用她的手,漫不经心
Caressing with an abstracted hand the curve of her breast.
轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄,
Surrendered to her deep sadness as to a lover, for hours
在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上,
She lolls in the bright luxurious disarray of the sky —
月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态,
Haggard, entranced — and watches the small clouds float by
她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开
Uncurling indolently in the blue air like flowers.
向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。
When now and then upon this planet she lets fall,
有时,当她感到懒洋洋无事可为,
Out of her idleness and sorrow, a secret tear,
给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪,
Some poet — an enemy of slumber, musing apart —
一位虔诚的诗人,厌恶睡眠之士,
Catches in his cupped hands the unearthly tribute, all
就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样
Fiery and iridescent like an opal's sphere,
闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌,
And hides it from the sun for ever in his heart.
放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。