命运偷换流年误转

推梗】王尔德《金盏花之恋》

Γλυκύπικρος Ëρως

Sweet I blame you not for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay

I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,

Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydraheaded wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,

You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled mead.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,

Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,

And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,

And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymenæal curls from out the poppyseeded wine,

With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,

Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love.

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,

Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,

And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you—ah! what else had I a boy to do,—

For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,

Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death a silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blind-worm battens on the root,

And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you, God's own mother was less dear to me,

And less dear the Cytheræan rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,

I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.

*亮点自找

解释一下，这是我昨天的睡前读物，因为实在是太适配了忍不住放上来给姐妹们康康（说不定能找到神仙愿意写呢对吧嘻嘻嘻），如果占tag那真的非常非常抱歉

是颓废美学掌门人（bushi）爱尔兰诗人奥斯卡 王尔德的金盏花之恋

*渣翻一段

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,
春潮卷来暖风，当苹果树开满繁密的花朵划过鸽子光洁的胸脯

Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love.
或许会有一双爱人蜷缩在那树下，读到我们曾经的爱情故事

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
他们或许——不，他们一定会因我一腔热血泼就的传奇，理解我心底最苦涩难解的秘密

Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.
他们会像我们曾做过的那样亲吻彼此，但永远，永远不会像我们那样注定分离

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For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
因为我们的生命催开的殷红花朵已然被所谓真相的蛀虫侵蚀殆尽

And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth
可惜没有谁的手能够再拼凑起青春破碎的光影，
好让我们把旧日回顾

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P.S 有没有姐妹是老王同好啊我好想找人吹奥斯卡王尔德呜呜呜有才华的人真是太可爱了