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葬花詞(清)曹雪芹

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发表于 7/15/2016 06:52:10 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
花謝花飛花滿天,紅消香斷有誰憐?遊絲軟繫飄春榭,落絮輕沾撲繡簾。
簾中女兒惜春暮,愁緒滿懷無處訴,手把花鋤出繡簾,忍踏落花來復去。
柳絲榆莢自芳菲,不管桃飄與李飛。桃李明年能再發,明歲閨中知有誰?
三月香巢已壘成,梁間燕子太無情!明年花發雖可啄,卻不道人去梁空巢也傾。
一年三百六十日,風刀霜劍嚴相逼,明媚鮮妍能幾時?一朝飄泊難尋覓。
花開易見落難尋﹐階前悶殺葬花人,獨把花鋤淚暗灑, 灑上花枝見血痕。
杜鵑無語正黃昏, 荷鋤歸去掩重門。青燈照壁人初睡,冷雨敲窗被未溫。
怪奴底事倍傷神?半為憐春半惱春。憐春忽至惱忽去,至又無言去不聞。
昨宵庭外悲歌發,知是花魂與鳥魂。花魂鳥魂總難留,鳥自無言花自羞。
願奴脅下生雙翼,隨花飛落天盡頭。天盡頭,何處有香丘?未若錦囊收艷骨,
一抔淨土掩風流。質本潔來還潔去,強於污淖陷渠溝。爾今死去奴收葬,
未卜奴身何日亡?奴今葬花人笑痴,他年葬奴知是誰?試看春殘花漸落,
便是紅顏老死時。一朝春盡紅顏老,花落人亡兩不知!

Poem of Burying Blossoms
by Cao Xueqin of Qing Dynasty

Blooms withered, blooms flying, blooms filling the sky;
Red’s faded; scent’s ended; who has pity on them?
Wafting gossamers, hovering, softly tie to spring pavilions;
Fallen catkins, fluttering, lightly stick on embroidered screens.
A girl behind the screens feels sorry for spring soon gone;
No one she can tell of her heart full of sorrows.
She gets out of embroidered screens with a hoe in hand,
And walks to and fro, unbearable to tread on fallen blossoms.
Willow twigs and elm pods enjoy their self aroma,
Caring not for blooms of peach floating away, of plum flying down.
Blossoms of peach and plum can blow afresh next year;
But next year, who will be in the boudoir?
The building of scented nests finished in March;
But the swallows on beams are so merciless.
Albeit they can peck blossoms blowing next year,
Yet, unawares, the person’s gone, the empty nests on beams leaning.
There are three hundred sixty days in a year;
The knifelike wind and the swordlike frost press so hard;
How long can flowers remain so beautiful and fresh?
Once they float down, nowhere to look for.
Flowers in bloom are easy to see, but hard to find, once fallen.
The one on steps who will bury flowers is now feeling sulky,
And holding the hoe alone, tears trickling stealthily.
Tears splash on boughs that show the trace of blood.
’Tis twilight, and the cuckoo is silent;
Shouldering the hoe, I return and shut door after door.
I just fall asleep with the lamp shining on the walls,
And cold rains pelting on the window, quilts not warm yet.
I wonder why I’m so doubly unhappy.
It’s half pitying spring, half annoyed at spring.
Pitying spring for its sudden coming, annoyed for its sudden going;
It’s silent when coming, and no one knows when it’s going.
Yesterday evening in the courtyard, a melancholy song was heard;
So I know it’s souls of flowers and of birds.
The souls of flowers and birds can’t always stay;
Birds keep silent and flowers so shy.
I wish to grow two wings under my armpits,
And follow the flowers flying to the end of heaven.
At the end of heaven, where’s the aromatic tomb?
I’d rather gather beautiful bones in a brocade bag,
And cover the beauty with a handful of pure earth.
Since born in purity, now gone in purity,
Better than buried in a dirty ditch.
As you died now, I gather and bury you;
I don’t know on which day I’ll pass away.
People laugh at me as idiot for burying flowers;
But who will bury me in years to come?
Lo, flowers gradually drop in late spring;
It’s time for young beauty to grow old and die.
Once spring’s at the end, the beauty becomes old;
Then none remember fallen flowers and the deceased.
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