William Wordsworth - To --, in Her Seventieth Year 汉译

Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright,

Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined

By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind

To something purer and more exquisite

Than flesh and blood; whene’er thou meet’st my sight,

When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek,

Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white,

And head that droops because the soul is meek,

Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare;

That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb

From desolation toward the genial prime;

Or with the Moon conquering earth’s misty air,

And filling more and more with crystal light

As pensive Evening deepens into night.

赠一位年届七旬的女士

这样的年龄多美！明慧的夫人，

你的形象呵，已由慈祥的造化、

圣洁的神灵加以提炼而升华：

纯净，精粹，远胜于血肉之身；

无论何时，我一见你的形影，

望着你未曾衰萎的白皙面颊，

你由于温顺而微微低俯的头颈，

你鬓角旁边银辉闪闪的鬈发，

我便想：你像寒冬开放的雪花莲，

淡雅宜人，能把我们的想象

从荒凉冬景色引向和煦的春光；

你也像夜幕四垂时素月高悬，

透过濛濛的雾霭，清辉远映，

夜色愈浓，愈显得皎洁晶莹。