Lo, Victress on the peaks, Where
thou with mighty brow regarding the world, (The
world O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee,) Out
of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all, Dominant,
with the dazzling sun around thee, Flauntest
now unharm’d in immortal soundness and bloom--lo, in these hours supreme, No
poem proud, I chanting bring to thee, nor mastery’s rapturous verse, But
a cluster containing night’s darkness and blood-dripping wounds, And
psalms of the dead.
看哪,山巅的胜利女神
看哪,山巅的胜利女神,你在威武地注视着这个世界, (那世界,啊,自由,它反对你的阴谋已挫败。) 已摆脱了它那些数不清的缠住你的圈套,在全部挫败了它们以后, 你主宰一切,炫目的太阳在你周围, 你现在已安全而永远健康、精神焕发地高高在上了——看哪,在这个至高无上的时刻, 我带给你的歌不是一首骄傲的诗,也不是什么引起狂喜的诗的杰作, 而是包含深夜的黑暗和滴着血的伤口的一束, |
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