50
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
我独自漫游，犹如一朵云
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills， When all at once I saw a crowd，A host， of golden daffodils；
Beside the lake， beneath the trees， Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way， They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay：
Ten thousand saw I at a glance， Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced； but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee：
A poet could not but be gay， In such a jocund company：
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought：
For oft， when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood，They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude；And then my heart with pleasure fills， And dances with the daffodils.
51
Auld Lang Syne
旧日的时光
1
Should auld acquaintance be forgot， and never brought to mind？
Should auld acquaintance be forgot， and auld lang syne！
Chorus.
For auld lang syne， my dear， For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet， for auld lang syne.
2
And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp！ And surely I’ll be mine！
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet， for auld lang syne.
3
We twa hae run about the braes， And pou’d the gowans fine；But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit， sin’ auld lang syne.
4
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn， frae morning sun till dine？
But seas between us braid hae roar’d sin auld lang syne.
5
And there’s a hand， my trusty fere！ and gie’s a hand o’ thine！
And we’ll tak a right gude-wille waught， for auld lang syne.
52
Ode To the West Wind
西风颂
1
O wild West Wind， thou breath of Autumn’s being， Thou， from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven， like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing，Yellow， and black， and pale， and hectic red， Pestilence-stricken multitudes： O thou， Who chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe winged seeds， where they lie cold and low， Each like a corpse within its grave， untilThine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o’er the dreaming earth， and fill （Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air） With living hues and odours plain and hill：
Wild Spirit， which art moving everywhere； Destroyer and preserver； hear， oh， hear！
2
Thou on whose stream， mid the steep sky’s commotion， Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed，Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and Ocean， Angels of rain and lightning： there are spreadOn the blue surface of thine aery surge， Like the bright hair uplifted from the headOf some fierce Maenad， even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith’s height，The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirgeOf the dying year， to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre， Vaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapours， from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain， and fire， and hail， will burst： oh， hear！
3
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean， where he lay，Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams，Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay，And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave’s intenser day，All overgrown with azure moss and flowersSo sweet， the sense faints picturing them！ Thou For whose path the Atlantic’s level powersCleave themselves into chasms， while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean， knowThy voice， and suddenly grow gray with fear， And tremble and despoil themselves. oh， hear！
4
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear； If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee；A wave to pant beneath thy power， and shareThe impulse of thy strength， only less free Than thou， O uncontrollable！ If evenI were as in my boyhood， and could be.
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven， As then， when to outstrip thy skiey speedScarce seem’d a vision； I would ne’er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh！ lift me as a wave， a leaf， a cloud！
I fall upon the thorns of life！ I bleed！
A heavy weight of hours has chaind and bowed One too like thee， tameless， and swift， and proud.
5
Make me thy lyre， even as the forest is： What if my leaves are falling like its own！ The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep， autumnal tone， Sweet though in sadness. Be thou， Spirit fierce， My spirit！ Be thou me， impetuous one！
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves， to quicken a new birth！ And， by the incantation of this verse，Scatter， as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks， my words among mankind！ Be through my lips to unawakened earthThe trumpet of a prophecy！ O Wind，If Winter comes， can Spring be far behind？
53
To Autumn
秋颂
I
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness， Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun；Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run； To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees，And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core；To swell the gourd， and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel； to set budding more，And still more， later flowers for the bees， Until they think warm days will never cease，For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store？
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor，Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind； Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep，Drowsed with the fume of poppies， while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers：
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook；Or by a cider-press， with patient look，Thou watchest the last oozings， hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Spring？ Ay， where are they？