Chapter 3 sully-prudhomme

Sully-Prudhomme (1839-1907), a famous French poet, won the first Nobel Prize in Literature in 1901.His main works include collections of poems "Anthology of Long and Short Poems", "Justice", "Happiness" and so on. The lake is as deep and calm as a mirror, The swan paddles the waves silently. The fluff on both sides of it is like spring and April The white snow that will melt in the sun, Great milky wings flutter in the breeze, Swim with it like a slow boat. It lifts its beautiful long neck above the reeds, Sometimes submerged in lake water, or low back on the water surface,

Curved again, graceful as a cameo, Hide the black beak under the white neck. It swam across the edge of the dark and quiet pine forest, Graceful and melancholy, Qianqian Fangcao all fall behind it, Like a black hair rippling behind her. The cave where the poet listens to his feelings, The fountain weeps for friends lost forever, All make the swan fall in love, it lingers here. The quietly falling willow leaves brushed against its plain shoulders. Then, away from the darkness of the forest, Head held high, sailing towards a vast blue sky. In celebration of whiteness - which is what it worships,

It selects the splendid country of sunglasses. When the shores of the lake sink into a mist, All silhouetted into shadowy phantoms, The horizon is darkened, only a red light remains, The rushes and irises were unwavering. Tree frogs play music in the still air, A little firefly flickered in the moonlight. So the swan fell asleep in the dark lake, The water of the lake reflects the light of the milky white and purple night, Like a silver cup among thousands of diamonds. It hides its head under its wings and sleeps between two skies. Feibai translation The vase was knocked open by a fan,

The verbena is wilting in the bottle, This blow is but a light touch, No sound, no one hears, But this tiny wound, wear away the transparent crystal; With unseen firm progress it, Slowly spread to the whole body of the vase. The clear water flows drop by drop, The flowers in the vase withered, Nobody has noticed yet, Don't touch it, the bottle is broken. The lover's hand brushes the heart, can often also cause pain; And the heart breaks itself apart, The flowers of love are gradually withering. As perfect as before in the eyes of the world, But the wound in the heart deepens and widens;

Let this man weep to himself, The heart is broken, don't touch it. Translated by Jin Zhiping In the dream the farmer said to me: "I will no longer support you, You make your own bread, you sow your own seed, you plow the land. " The weaver said to me, "Make your own clothes." The mason said to me, "Pick up your trowel." I am alone, abandoned by all mankind, Wandering everywhere, helplessly isolated from society, When I pray to God for the highest mercy, I found that the lion was standing in front of me to block myself. I opened my eyes and doubted the real dawn,

Watch the brave companions whistling up the escalator, All industries are prosperous, and the fields have already been sown. I realize my happiness, in this world, No one can boast of not wanting help from others, I love the people who work, from this day on. Translated by Jin Zhiping If I hadn't learned to love under such winks How nice it would be!Then I wouldn't be around for so long Endure this bitter memory, which alone, never dies, No matter how far away, it is still fresh in my memory. well!How can I blow out these pale blue eyes Like extinguishing a candle, it flickers in my lonely heart,

I can't pass a night quietly, even if I take on the dark shadows of the grave. If I were like everyone else, I would love character first How nice it would be instead of tortured beauty! This astonishment goes beyond the borders of the heart's power and desire. I could love freely as I wish, But my lover, my chosen lover, I can no longer replace her, like a sister. Xiaoyue translation The heart is not broken, it is made of hard gold: May it be like a vat made of stoneware, It only lasts for a while, and then it turns to dust! But it's useless, what a pain!becomes empty.

Pleasure always swirls greedily around: Brother, don't let this guy gulp, Take a good look at the clear spring in the urn, The wealth accumulated over the years will be consumed overnight. Be economical about it.Unfortunately, those fools, At the fiery Dionysian festival they carry beautiful pottery urns, Lost its fragrance at the feet of mediocre idols. One day he will feel that a lover, true or false, A virgin's lips hang over his heart, But his heart can't pour out anything. Xiaoyue translation