P. B. Shelley - Music 汉译

1

I pant for the music which is divine,

My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;

Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine,

Loosen the notes in a silver shower;

Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain,

I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.

2

Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,

More, oh more ,— I am thirsting yet;

It loosens the serpent which care has bound

Upon my heart to stifle it;

The dissolving strain, through every vein,

Passes into my heart and brain.

3

As the scent of a violet withered up,

Which grew by the brink of a silver lake,

When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup,

And mist there was none its thirst to slake—

And the violet lay dead while the odour flew

On the wings of the wind o’er the waters blue—

4

As one who drinks from a charmèd cup

Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine,

Whom, a might Enchantress filling up,

Invites to love with her kiss divine …

                              1821.