有一个词早己被太多人亵渎

I

我已经来得太晚，

One word is too often profaned

有一种感情被太多人错误地贬低，

   For me to profane it,

你也不必错上加错；

One feeling too falsely disdained

有一种希望太近似于绝望

   For thee to disdain it;

“审慎”忘记将它窒息，

One hope is too like despair

有一种怜悯是你的怜悯

   For prudence to smother,

比来自他人的更值得珍藏。

And pity from thee more dear

   Than that from another.

我不能给你人们所说的“爱情”，

但你难道会拒绝

II

从我心里升起的崇拜？

I can give not what men call love,

连天堂都没有把它拒之门外，——

   But wilt thou accept not

那是飞蛾对星光的饥渴，

The worship the heart lifts above

那是黑夜对天明的欲望，

   And the Heavens reject not,—

这深情源于我们悲伤的宇宙

The desire of the moth for the star,

某个深远的地方。

   Of the night for the morrow,

The devotion to something afar

   From the sphere of our sorrow?