This is not love: we cannot call it love.

这不是爱：我们不能这么称呼它。

Love would make me aware of infinite things,

爱应该让我感受到无限的事物，

Drive me down the spirit’s vast abyss

驱动我穿过“痛苦”紧狭的隧道，

And through the narrow fastnesses of pain.

进入“精神”广阔的深渊。

This is not love. Yet it holds loveliness

这不是爱。但它的美好

Beyond mere pleasure. Peace and passion both

已然超越了单纯的快乐。平静和激情

Grow from the kiss with which I paint drab hours.

一并从我用来打发无聊时光的吻中发芽。

It is not love: love is for the gods

这不是爱：爱属于诸神

And our more godlike moments. Yet when stars

和我们接近神的时刻。然而

Withhold their splendor, why should we not light

当星星熄灭了它们的光辉，我们为什么不点燃

Candles to warm with kindly mortal flames

蜡烛，用仁慈的凡人之火来温暖

The all-enfolding, cold, immortal night?

笼罩一切的、冰冷的、不朽的夜晚？