8

WHEN the lamp went out by my bed I woke up with the early birds.

I sat at my open window with a fresh wreath on my loose hair.

The young traveller came along the road in the rosy mist of the morning.

A pearl chain was on his neck, and the sun's rays fell on his crown. He stopped before my door and asked me with an eager cry, “Where is she?”

For very shame I could not say, “She is I, young traveller, she is I.”

It was dusk and the lamp was not lit.

I was listlessly braiding my hair.

The young traveller came on his chariot in the glow of the setting sun.

His horses were foaming at the mouth, and there was dust on his garment.

He alighted at my door and asked in a tired voice, “Where is she?”

For very shame I could not say, “She is I, weary traveller, she is I.”

It is an April night. The lamp is burning in my room.

The breeze of the south comes gently. The noisy parrot sleeps in its cage.

My bodice is of the colour of the peacock's throat, and my mantle is green as young grass.

I sit upon the floor at the window watching the deserted street.

Through the dark night I keep humming, “She is I, despairing traveller, she is I.”

8

当我床前的灯熄灭了，我和晨鸟一同醒起。

我在散发上戴上新鲜的花串，坐在洞开的窗前。

那年轻的行人在玫瑰色的朝霭中从大路上来了。

珠链在他的颈上，阳光在他的冠上。

他停在我的门前，用切望的呼声问我：

“她在哪里呢？”

因为深深害羞，我不好意思说出：

“她就是我，年轻的行人，她就是我。”

黄昏来到，还未上灯。

我心绪不宁地编着头发。

在落日的光辉中年轻的行人驾着车辇来了。

他的驾车的马，嘴里喷着白沫，他的衣袍上蒙着尘土。

他在我的门前下车，用疲乏的声音问：

“她在哪里呢？”

因为深深害羞，我不好意思说出：

“她就是我，愁倦的行人，她就是我。”

一个四月的夜晚。我的屋里点着灯。

南风温柔地吹来。多言的鹦鹉在笼里睡着了。

我的衷衣和孔雀颈毛一样地华彩，

我的披纱和嫩草一样地碧青。

我坐在窗前地上看望着冷落的街道。

在沉黑的夜中我不住地低吟着：

“她就是我，失望的行人，她就是我。”