厭世
絕望的刀刺進了我的青春，
穿戴空白世代的俗豔裝束，
讓一隻隻手竊取我的財富，
將我的靈魂編入女人的髮，
當命運使喚的新郎，――我發誓
我並不願！這一切對我而言
都不及啃噬海洋的細微泡沫，
不及夏季空氣裡沒有種子的
薊花冠毛：最好冷漠遠離
惡意毀謗我、嘲諷我人生的愚者，
他們不識我；最好留居
低等下人的簡陋屋頂，
而不是歸返紛爭的粗啞洞窟，
在那兒，我潔白的靈魂初次親吻罪的唇。
TædiumVitæ（1）
To stab my youth with desparate knives, to wear
This paltrey age’s gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,—I swear
I love it not! These things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistle-down of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
（1）標題為拉丁文。
安魂賦
腳步放輕，她在身邊
瑞雪深埋，
語調柔緩，她可聽見
雛菊盛開。
她的金黃豔髮
經鐵鏽玷汙，
年輕貌美的她
卻凋落塵土。
白如瑞雪，恍如百合，
她一無所知
她已是女人，出落得
絕美標緻。
棺木與沉碑，
緊壓她胸前，
我暗自傷悲，
她幽幽永眠。
安息吧，安息，她再聽不見
詩歌或琴聲，
我的人生亦隨她安葬，
塵土埋我身。
亞維儂（1）
（1）王爾德的十歲妹妹逝世七年後，他在法國亞維儂寫下此詩。王爾德經常造訪她的墳墓，從中獲得平靜與慰藉。
Requiescat
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Avignon
維洛納隨筆
國王宮殿的階梯陡峭，
我放逐疲倦的腳難熬，
噢，麵包是何等鹹澀，
碎屑從惡人餐桌墜落，――還是
在血腥戰役死去的好，
或頭顱高掛翡冷翠城門，
活出骨氣，都好過苟活，
任由消磨我靈魂的精髓。
「詛咒上帝，然後死去：還有比這更好的企望？
幸福的他早已忘卻你，
沉浸黃金國城，永恆之日」――
不，安息吧：盲目牢獄後方
我擁有的東西，無人帶得走，
有我的愛，和滿天星斗光芒。
At Verona
How steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.
’Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’—
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.
絕望的刀刺進了我的青春，
穿戴空白世代的俗豔裝束，
讓一隻隻手竊取我的財富，
將我的靈魂編入女人的髮，
當命運使喚的新郎，――我發誓
我並不願！這一切對我而言
都不及啃噬海洋的細微泡沫，
不及夏季空氣裡沒有種子的
薊花冠毛：最好冷漠遠離
惡意毀謗我、嘲諷我人生的愚者，
他們不識我；最好留居
低等下人的簡陋屋頂，
而不是歸返紛爭的粗啞洞窟，
在那兒，我潔白的靈魂初次親吻罪的唇。
TædiumVitæ（1）
To stab my youth with desparate knives, to wear
This paltrey age’s gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,—I swear
I love it not! These things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistle-down of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
（1）標題為拉丁文。
安魂賦
腳步放輕，她在身邊
瑞雪深埋，
語調柔緩，她可聽見
雛菊盛開。
她的金黃豔髮
經鐵鏽玷汙，
年輕貌美的她
卻凋落塵土。
白如瑞雪，恍如百合，
她一無所知
她已是女人，出落得
絕美標緻。
棺木與沉碑，
緊壓她胸前，
我暗自傷悲，
她幽幽永眠。
安息吧，安息，她再聽不見
詩歌或琴聲，
我的人生亦隨她安葬，
塵土埋我身。
亞維儂（1）
（1）王爾德的十歲妹妹逝世七年後，他在法國亞維儂寫下此詩。王爾德經常造訪她的墳墓，從中獲得平靜與慰藉。
Requiescat
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Avignon
維洛納隨筆
國王宮殿的階梯陡峭，
我放逐疲倦的腳難熬，
噢，麵包是何等鹹澀，
碎屑從惡人餐桌墜落，――還是
在血腥戰役死去的好，
或頭顱高掛翡冷翠城門，
活出骨氣，都好過苟活，
任由消磨我靈魂的精髓。
「詛咒上帝，然後死去：還有比這更好的企望？
幸福的他早已忘卻你，
沉浸黃金國城，永恆之日」――
不，安息吧：盲目牢獄後方
我擁有的東西，無人帶得走，
有我的愛，和滿天星斗光芒。
At Verona
How steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.
’Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’—
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.
