When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look,
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled,
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
當(dāng)你年老鬢白，昏沉欲睡，
坐在爐邊打盹，取下這本詩(shī)集，
緩緩讀起，夢(mèng)憶你過(guò)去可人的雙眼，
那脈脈秋水，她們?cè)?jīng)是多么的深情和曼美；
多少人曾愛(ài)過(guò)和你美好時(shí)光的愉悅，
多少人又曾或真或假傾慕你的容顏，
但唯有一個(gè)人愛(ài)你圣潔高雅的心靈，
愛(ài)你那鉛華洗盡，年老色衰的憔悴；
你在熾紅壁爐前低頭沉吟，喃喃細(xì)語(yǔ)，默念曾經(jīng)消逝的愛(ài)情，
而它們卻早已步入連綿峰谷山巒，
如同愛(ài)你的他，將臉龐藏于那漫天繁星。
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