I

有一个词早己被太多人亵渎

One word is too often profaned

我已经来得太晚，

   For me to profane it,

有一种感情被太多人错误地贬低，

One feeling too falsely disdained

你也不必错上加错；

   For thee to disdain it;

有一种希望太近似于绝望

One hope is too like despair

“审慎”忘记将它窒息，

   For prudence to smother,

有一种怜悯是你的怜悯

And pity from thee more dear

比来自他人的更值得珍藏。

   Than that from another.

我不能给你人们所说的“爱情”，

II

但你难道会拒绝

I can give not what men call love,

从我心里升起的崇拜？

   But wilt thou accept not

连天堂都没有把它拒之门外，——

The worship the heart lifts above

那是飞蛾对星光的饥渴，

   And the Heavens reject not,—

那是黑夜对天明的欲望，

The desire of the moth for the star,

这深情源于我们悲伤的宇宙

   Of the night for the morrow,

某个深远的地方。

The devotion to something afar

   From the sphere of our sorrow?