To—
[英]波西·比希·雪莱
Percy Bysshe Shelley
有一个字总是遭人亵渎，
但我不会这样做。
有一种感觉遭人假意鄙弃，
你不会这样做；
有一种希望犹如绝望，
仔细斟酌会令人窒息，
你的同情心无人能比，
令我的心备受宠爱。
我不能赋予你所谓的爱，
但你能否接受它。
一颗心仰慕着你
上帝也不会拒绝。
那是飞蛾对繁星的期望，
如同夜晚爱慕白昼，
那是一种热爱，
从我的悲痛中解脱。
One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it，
One feeling too falsely disdain'd
For thee to disdain it；
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother，
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
I can not give what men call love
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not.
And the desire of the moth for the star，
Of the night for the morrow，
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.