勃朗宁夫人诗集第一首

我曾悄思岑想，忒奥克里托斯怎样咏唱， 那些静好岁月，深心向往，甜美如斯； 年复一年，从未虚至， 为注定会死亡的众生带来这珍贵的馈赠—— 不论青年还是老人， 从时光的高贵之手，又获得这珍贵一年。 我独自沉吟，古调难唱， 不禁泪眼婆娑—— 我看见往昔岁月一幕幕流转眼前， 甜美时光，哀伤岁月，我生命中的绵绵愁思， 一个接一个，它们如幽灵掠过我身。 我犹独自饮泣， 突然我感到身后袭来一个神秘身影， 他拽着我的头发把我往后一拉； 我奋力挣扎， 耳边响起不容挑战的嗓音—— “猜猜看这次是谁抓住了你？” “死亡。”我答。 但是，噢，听呐，响起了那银子一般动人的回答： “不，不是死亡，是爱情。” I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightaway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — “Guess now who holds thee? ”—“Death, ” I said, But, there, The silver answer rang，“Not Death, but Love.”