The Moon more indolently dreams to-night

今夜，月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中，

Than a fair woman on her couch at rest,

像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人，

Caressing, with a hand distraught and light,

在入寐以前，用她的手，漫不经心

Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.

轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄，

Upon her silken avalanche of down,

在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上，

Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh;

月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态，

And watches the white visions past her flown,

她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开

Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.

向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。

And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep,

有时，当她感到懒洋洋无事可为，

Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow,

给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪，

Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,

一位虔诚的诗人，厌恶睡眠之士，

Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow

就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样

Whence gleams of iris and of opal start,

闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌，

And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.

放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。