To-night the Moon dreams with increased weariness,

今夜，月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中，

Like a beauty stretched forth on a downy heap

像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人，

Of rugs, while her languorous fingers caress

在入寐以前，用她的手，漫不经心

The contour of her breasts, before falling to sleep.

轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄，

On the satin back of the avalanche soft,

在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上，

She falls into lingering swoons, as she dies,

月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态，

While she lifteth her eyes to white visions aloft,

她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开

Which like efflorescence float up to the skies.

向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。

When at times, in her languor, down on to this sphere,

有时，当她感到懒洋洋无事可为，

She slyly lets trickle a furtive tear,

给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪，

A poet, desiring slumber to shun,

一位虔诚的诗人，厌恶睡眠之士，

Takes up this pale tear in the palm of his hand

就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样

(The colours of which like an opal blend),

闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌，

And buries it far from the eyes of the sun.

放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。