今夜，月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中，

This evening the Moon dreams more languidly,

像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人，

Like a beauty who on many cushions rests,

在入寐以前，用她的手，漫不经心

And with her light hand fondles lingeringly,

轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄，

Before she sleeps, the slope of her sweet breasts.

在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上，

On her soft satined avalanches' height

月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态，

Dying, she laps herself for hours and hours

她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开

In long, long swoons, and gazes at the white

向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。

Visions which rise athwart the blue-like flowers.

有时，当她感到懒洋洋无事可为，

When sometimes in her perfect indolence

给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪，

She lets a furtive tear steal gently thence.

一位虔诚的诗人，厌恶睡眠之士，

Some pious poet, a lone, sleepless one,

就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样

Takes in his hollowed hand this gem, shot through,

闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌，

Like an opal stone, with gleams of every hue,

放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。

And in his heart's depths hides it from the sun.