致羞涩的情人

如果我们的世界够大，时间够多，

小姐，这样的羞怯就算不上罪过。

我们会坐下来，想想该上哪边

去散步，度过我们漫漫的爱情天。

你会在印度的恒河河畔

寻得红宝石：我则咕隆抱怨，

傍著洪泊湾的潮汐。我会在

诺亚洪水前十年就将你爱，

你如果高兴，可以一直说不要，

直到犹太人改信别的宗教。

我植物般的爱情会不断生长，

比帝国还要辽阔，还要缓慢；

我会用一百年的时间赞美

你的眼睛，凝视你的额眉；

花两百年爱慕你的每个乳房，

三万年才赞赏完其它的地方；

每个部位至少花上一个世代，

在最后一世代才把你的心秀出来。

因为，小姐，你值得这样的礼遇，

我也不愿用更低的格调爱你。

可是在我背后我总听见

时间带翼的马车急急追赶；

而横陈在我们眼前的

却是无垠永恒的荒漠。

你的美绝不会再现芳踪，

你大理石墓穴里，我的歌声

也不会回荡：那时蛆虫将品嚐

你那珍藏已久的贞操，

你的矜持会化成灰尘，

我的情欲会变成灰烬：

坟墓是个隐密的好地方，

但没人会在那里拥抱，我想。

因此，现在趁青春色泽

还像朝露在你的肌肤停坐，

趁你的灵魂自每个毛孔欣然

散发出即时的火焰，

此刻让我们能玩就玩个尽兴；

此刻，像发情的猛禽

宁可一口把我们的时光吞掉

也不要在慢嚼的嘴里虚耗。

让我们把所有力气，所有

甜蜜，滚成一个圆球，

粗鲁狂猛地夺取我们的快感

冲破一扇扇人生的铁栅栏：

这样，我们虽无法叫太阳

驻足，却可使他奔跑向前。

英文原文：To His Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell(1621-1678)

Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, Lady, were no crime

We would sit down and think which way

To walk and pass our long love’s day.

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side

Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the Flood,

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow;

An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, Lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song: then worms shall try

That long preserved virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust:

The grave’s a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may,

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapt power

Let us roll all our strength and all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

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