Yeats初期的诗作是写得绝美的：朦胧，甜美而略带忧郁，充满了美丽的词藻，但他很快就学会写得实在、硬朗，而同时仍然保留了许多美丽的东西。他的诗歌语言既明白如话，又比一般白话更高一层，做到了透亮而又深刻。就像《一件外衣》那样不过八行的小诗，也是在优美的比喻之后来了清醒的现实感，最后归纳成为既有形象又有哲理的两行：
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.
赤身走路，
更有胆略。
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look,
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
译文：
当你年老时（爱尔兰 叶芝/袁可嘉译）
当你年老时，头白了，睡思昏沉，
炉火旁打盹，请取下这部诗歌，
慢慢读，回想你过去眼神的柔和，
回想它们昔日浓重的阴影；
多少人爱你青春欢畅的时辰，
爱慕你的美丽，假意或真心，
只有一个人爱你那朝圣者的灵魂，
爱你衰老了的脸上痛苦的皱纹；
垂下头来，在红光闪耀的炉子旁，
凄然地轻轻诉说那爱情的消逝，
在头顶的山上它缓缓踱着步子，
在一群星星中间隐藏着脸庞
白鸟
傅浩 译
亲爱的，但愿我们是浪尖上一双白鸟！
流星尚未陨逝，我们已厌倦了它的闪耀；
天边低悬，晨光里那颗蓝星的幽光
唤醒了你我心中，一缕不死的忧伤。
露湿的百合、玫瑰梦里逸出一丝困倦；
呵，亲爱的，可别梦那流星的闪耀，
也别梦那蓝星的幽光在滴露中低徊：
但愿我们化作浪尖上的白鸟：我和你！
我心头萦绕着无数岛屿和丹南湖滨，
在那里岁月会以遗忘我们，悲哀不再来临；
转瞬就会远离玫瑰、百合和星光的侵蚀，
只要我们是双白鸟，亲爱的，出没在浪花里！
但是Yeats最好的作品却是完全不用神话而写实际的一类，例如：
September 1913
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the galfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the greave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world likewind,
But little time have they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the greave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that bolld was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wlofe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the greave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, "Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son":
They weighed so lightly what the gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the greave.
一九一三年九月
你们需要什么？为什么神智清醒了，
却还在油腻的钱柜里摸索寻找，
在一个便士上再加上半个便士，
战战兢兢地祈祷之后再作祈祷，
直到骨子里骨髓全部干掉？
人们生下来只是为了祈祷和储蓄，
浪漫的爱尔兰已经死了完了，
随着奥利莱进了坟墓。
他们可是另外的一群，
提起名字就会止住你们的嬉笑。
他们在世上犹如狂飙掠过，
但没有时间用来祈祷，
绞刑吏早为他们结好绳套，
天知道他们有什么可以储蓄！
浪漫的爱尔兰已经死了完了，
随着奥利莱进了坟墓。
难道孤雁长飞，在每个海洋上
展翅，就是为了这样的局面？
为了它流了多少的血，
费兹求洛把生命贡献，
艾密特和吴夫·董上了刑台，
勇士们慷慨地抛出了头颅。
浪漫的爱尔兰已经死了完了，
随着奥利莱进了坟墓。
如果我们能倒转岁月，
唤回那些被放逐的人们，
连同他们的孤独和痛苦，
你会喊：“哪一个金发女人
使得每个母亲之子这般疯狂！”
他们对自己付出的视如尘土。
让他们去吧，他们已经死了完了，
随着奥利莱进了坟墓。
[此贴子已经被作者于2005-12-6 19:42:03编辑过]
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发表于 2005-12-7 09:37
