今夜，月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中，

Tonight the moon, by languorous memories obsessed,

像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人，

Lies pensive and awake: a sleepless beauty amid

在入寐以前，用她的手，漫不经心

The tossed and multitudinous cushions of her bed,

轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄，

Caressing with an abstracted hand the curve of her breast.

在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上，

Surrendered to her deep sadness as to a lover, for hours

月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态，

She lolls in the bright luxurious disarray of the sky —

她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开

Haggard, entranced — and watches the small clouds float by

向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。

Uncurling indolently in the blue air like flowers.

有时，当她感到懒洋洋无事可为，

When now and then upon this planet she lets fall,

给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪，

Out of her idleness and sorrow, a secret tear,

一位虔诚的诗人，厌恶睡眠之士，

Some poet — an enemy of slumber, musing apart —

就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样

Catches in his cupped hands the unearthly tribute, all

闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌，

Fiery and iridescent like an opal's sphere,

放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。

And hides it from the sun for ever in his heart.