作者WebLKK (韦布鲁柯克)
看板poetry
标题还是布朗宁
时间Thu Apr 4 08:16:47 2002
TO ROBERT BROWNING
by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864)
There is delight in singing, tho' none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone
And see the prais'd far off him, far above.
Shakspeare is not our poet, but the world's,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath walkt along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue
So varied in discourse. But warmer climes
Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze
Of Alpine highths thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
抄自余光中着《含英吐华》（梁实秋翻译奖第三届译诗原文）
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