出自印度诗人泰戈尔的《流萤集》。
Fireflies had their origin in
China and Japan where thoughts
were very often claimed from
me in my hand writing on fans
and pieces of silk.
《流萤集》来源于我的
中国和日本之行;
人们常常要求我
亲笔把我的思想
写在扇子和绢素上。
1
My fancies are fireflies,----Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
我的幻想是一群萤火虫，----活跃的火花，闪耀在黑暗里。
2
The voice of wayside pansies,that do not attract the
careless glance,murmurs in these desultory lines.
路旁的紫罗兰吸引不了那疏忽的目光，它的声音却在这些零星诗句里呢喃。
3
In the drowsy dark caves of the mind dreams build their
nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.
在这沉寂晦暗，心的岩洞里，梦用白天沙漠里旅行遗落的断片营造香巢。
4
Spring scatters the petals of flowers that are not for
the fruits of the future,but for the moment's whim.
春天撒播花瓣，不是为了未来的果实，而是为了这一刹那的妄想。
5
Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber rushes into
numberless leaves,and dances in the air for a day.
从尘世微寐中解放出来的欢娱，涌进无数叶丛中，凌空飞舞，以竟一日之欢。
6
My words that are slight
may lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works heavy with import
have gone down.
我的话固然轻微
但当我的作品充满深重的意义而下沉时，
它们却可在时间的波涛上婆娑起舞。
7
Mind's underground moths grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight in the sunset sky.
心底的飞蛾长着薄膜的翅膀在落日的天空作诀别的飞翔。
8
The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.
蝴蝶计算的，不是月份，而是刹那，蝴蝶乃拥有充足的时间。
9
My thoughts,like sparks,ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.
我的思想像火花，带了朴素的笑容，骑在有翅膀的惊异上，
那树爱慕地凝视着它美丽的影子，可是永远抓不到它。
10
Let my love,like sunlight,surround you and yet give
you illumined freedom.
让我的爱像阳光一般地围绕你并给你五彩缤纷的自由。
11
Days are coloured bubbles that float upon
the surface of fathomless night.
白天是彩色的泡沫浮动在深不可测的夜的表面上。
12
My offerings are too timid to claim your
remembrance,and therefore you may remember
them.
我的供献羞涩得不能要求你记念，因此你也许会忘记它们。
13
Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden,
but keep my song.
从这礼物上抛弃我的名字吧，如果它是一种负担，
但请保存着我的诗歌。
14
April,like a child,writes hieroglyphs on dust
with flowers,wipes them away and forgets.
四月，像个小孩，用花朵把象形文字写在尘土上，
又把它抹去，而且忘掉。
15
Memory,the priestess,kill the present and
offers it heart to the shrine of the dead past.
记忆，这女祭司，杀死了现在，便把它的心献祭给
那已死过去的神坛。
16
From the solemn gloom of the temple
children run out to sit in the dust,
God watchs them play and forget the
priest.
从那庙宇肃穆的幽暗里小孩们跑出来坐在
尘灰中，上帝注视他们游戏却忘记了那位祭司。
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