I
Ⅰ
He disappeared in the dead of winter:
他消逝于寒冬时节：
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
溪流封冻，机场迹近荒芜，
And snow disfigured the public statues;
积雪模糊了露天雕像的身形；
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
水银柱沉入了弥留之际的口唇。
What instruments we have agree
我们许可了怎样的仪器
The day of his death was a dark cold day.
他死去的那天如此阴暗凄冷。
Far from his illness
远离了他的疾病，
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
狼群继续奔行在常绿的森林，
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
农夫之河不曾受时髦码头的诱引；
By mourning tongues
悲痛的语言已令
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.
诗人之死与他的诗篇泾渭分明。
But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
但对于他，这是他自己最后的下午，
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
一个被护士和谣言包围的下午；
The provinces of his body revolted,
他身体的各省已叛乱，
The squares of his mind were empty,
他意识的广场空空如也，
Silence invaded the suburbs,
寂静侵入了郊区，
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.
知觉的脉流已停歇；他汇入了他的景仰者。
Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
此刻，在一百座城市间被传诵，
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
他全然置身于那些陌生的爱意，
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
要在另一座树林里找寻他的快乐，
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
还须领受异域良知法则的惩治。
The words of a dead man
一个死者的言辞
Are modified in the guts of the living.
将在活人的肺腑间被改写。
But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
而在未来的显要与喧嚣中，
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
当经纪人在交易所的场子里如野兽般嘶吼，
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
当穷人对他们身受的种种苦难已习以为常，
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
当每个身在自我牢狱中的人几乎确信他的自由，
A few thousand will think of this day
数以千计的人仍会想起这个日子
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.
如同会想起某天，当做了稍不寻常的事。
我们许可了怎样的仪器
What instruments we have agree
他死去的那天如此阴暗凄冷。
The day of his death was a dark cold day.
Ⅱ
II
你像我们一样愚钝，你的天赋挽救了一切：
You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
贵妇人的教区，肉身的衰败，你自己。
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
疯狂的爱尔兰刺激你沉浸于诗艺。
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
而今爱尔兰的癫狂和天气依然如故，
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
因为诗歌不会让任何事发生：它在官吏们
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
从未打算干预的自造的山谷里得以存续，
In the valley of its making where executives
从那些与世隔绝的忙碌而哀伤的牧场、
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
从那些我们信任且将终老于斯的阴冷市镇
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
一路向南方流淌；它将幸存，
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
以偶然的方式，在某个入海口。
A way of happening, a mouth.
Ⅲ
III
大地，请接纳一位尊贵的客人：
Earth, receive an honoured guest:
威廉·叶芝已长眠安枕。
William Yeats is laid to rest.
让这个爱尔兰佬躺下
Let the Irish vessel lie
倾献出他的全部技艺。
Emptied of its poetry.
在黑夜的梦魇里
In the nightmare of the dark
全欧洲的狗狂吠不已，
All the dogs of Europe bark,
活着的人族等待着，
And the living nations wait,
怀着憎恨彼此相隔；
Each sequestered in its hate;
智力所受的羞辱，
Intellectual disgrace
在每个人的表情里透露，
Stares from every human face,
而每一只惊愕的眼睛
And the seas of pity lie
都藏含了无尽的悲悯。
Locked and frozen in each eye.
跟着，诗人，跟着走
Follow, poet, follow right
直至暗夜的尽头，
To the bottom of the night,
用你无拘无束的声音
With your unconstraining voice
让我们相信犹有欢欣；
Still persuade us to rejoice;
用诗句的耕耘奉献
With the farming of a verse
将诅咒变成一座葡萄园，
Make a vineyard of the curse,
歌唱人类的不成功，
Sing of human unsuccess
苦中来作乐；
In a rapture of distress;
在心灵的荒漠中
In the deserts of the heart
让治愈的甘泉开始流涌，
Let the healing fountain start,
在他岁月的囚笼中
In the prison of his days
教会自由的人如何称颂。
Teach the free man how to praise.