今夜，月亮进入无限慵懒的梦中，

To-night the Moon dreams with increased weariness,

像在重叠的垫褥上躺着的美人，

Like a beauty stretched forth on a downy heap

在入寐以前，用她的手，漫不经心

Of rugs, while her languorous fingers caress

轻轻将自己乳房的轮廓抚弄，

The contour of her breasts, before falling to sleep.

在雪崩似的绵软的缎子背上，

On the satin back of the avalanche soft,

月亮奄奄一息地耽于昏厥状态，

She falls into lingering swoons, as she dies,

她的眼睛眺望那如同百花盛开

While she lifteth her eyes to white visions aloft,

向蓝天里袅袅上升的白色幻象。

Which like efflorescence float up to the skies.

有时，当她感到懒洋洋无事可为，

When at times, in her languor, down on to this sphere,

给地球上滴下一滴悄悄的眼泪，

She slyly lets trickle a furtive tear,

一位虔诚的诗人，厌恶睡眠之士，

A poet, desiring slumber to shun,

就把这一滴像猫眼石碎片一样

Takes up this pale tear in the palm of his hand

闪着红光的苍白眼泪收进手掌，

(The colours of which like an opal blend),

放进远离太阳眼睛的他的心里。

And buries it far from the eyes of the sun.