Sonnet 17 诗行难述君妩媚
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretched meter of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.
将来谁会相信我的诗文，
倘若处处对你赞美备至？
而天知道它不过是座坟，
又岂能显露你一半风姿！
倘若能描绘你美目流光，
清新诗行述尽万般妩媚。
后世会说“这诗人撒谎，
凡间面容岂有天国光辉！”
于是这些诗卷日渐泛黄，
仿佛饶舌老头遭人蔑视，
而你真容已成诗人狂想，
犹如远古歌谣言过其实。
但倘若那时你还有后代，
将与此诗重现你的光彩！
译于2008年7月16日。
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Who in the future will ever believe my poetry if I praise you as you deserve? Though, I have to admit, my poetry is like a tomb that actually hides what you are really like and doesn't manage to show even half of your true qualities. If I could capture in my writing how beautiful your eyes are and create new verses to list all of your wonderful attributes, decades from now people would say, "This poet lies. No human face was ever so divine." In this way, my poems (yellowed with age), would be scorned, like old men who talk too much without saying anything true, and what is really your due would be dismissed as a poet's madness, the false verses of an old song. But if some child of yours were still alive then, you would live twice: in the child, and in my poetry.
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【铁冰译文】
将来还有谁会相信我的诗作，
即使它洋溢着对你的最高赞美？
只有上苍知道那是墓碑一座，
埋藏你的灵魂，却难给你竖口碑：
我要是能描绘你迷人的双眸，
用脱俗的诗句历数你万种风情，
未来的人们就会说：“这诗人吹牛，
凡人脸上何曾长着天仙的眼睛？”
我这些在故纸堆里发黄的篇章，
会像喋喋不休的老头遭人嘲笑，
你真正的美也成了诗人的妄想，
正如一首言过其实的古代歌谣。
但如果你有儿孙生活在未来，
你的生命将由肉体和诗行同载。
【梁宗岱译文】
未来的时代谁会相信我的诗，
如果它充满了你最高的美德？
虽然，天知道，它只是一座墓地
埋着你的生命和一半的本色。
如果我写得出你美目的流盼，
用清新的韵律细数你的秀妍，
未来的时代会说：“这诗人撒谎：
这样的天姿哪里会落在人间！”
于是我的诗册，被岁月所熏黄，
就要被人藐视，像饶舌的老头；
你的真容被诬作诗人的疯狂，
以及一支古歌的夸张的节奏：
但那时你若有个儿子在人世，
你就活两次：在他身上，在诗里。
【屠岸译文】
将来，谁会相信我诗中的话来着，
假如其中写满了你至高的美德？
可是，天知道，我的诗是坟啊，它埋着
你的一生，显不出你一半的本色。
如果我能够写出你明眸的流光，
用清新的诗章勾出你全部的仪容，
将来的人们就要说，这诗人在扯谎，
上天的笔触触不到凡人的面孔。
于是，我那些古旧得发黄的稿纸，
会被人看轻，被当作嚼舌的老人；
你的真相会被称作诗人的狂思，
称作一篇过甚其词的古韵文：
但如果你有个孩子能活到那时期，
你就双重地活在--他身上，我诗里。
情必近于痴而始真，Only infatuation can prove the sincerity of love;
才必兼乎趣而始化。Only interest can bloom the perfection of talent.
