嗨!喂!我想睡，却徒然;从十二岁起我就没有合眼，现在是三点钟了，当我躺着的时候，从巴黎圣母院到圣德尼，巴黎的钟声向我敲响;“你还年轻，”他们说，“又强壮又自由。”我不会叹息呻吟，让我的四肢放松，让我的骨头休息，仿佛我的床是用石头填的，我的舌头不会发出乖戾的低语——啊，不!因为每一个响动都在说:“孩子，你自由、强壮、年轻。”在被单的爱抚下，我的身体快乐地呜呜叫着;喜悦在我的血管里冒泡. . . .啊，是的，我奔腾的热血正奏出欢快的歌声，因为我年轻、自由、强壮。也许是春天。 I am so happy I am afraid. The sense of living fills me with exultation. I want to sing, to dance; I am dithyrambic with delight. I think the moon must be to blame: It fills the room with fairy flame; It paints the wall, it seems to pour A dappled flood upon the floor. I rise and through the window stare . . . Ye gods! how marvelously fair! From Montrouge to the Martyr's Hill, A silver city rapt and still; Dim, drowsy deeps of opal haze, And spire and dome in diamond blaze; The little lisping leaves of spring Like sequins softly glimmering; Each roof a plaque of argent sheen, A gauzy gulf the space between; Each chimney-top a thing of grace, Where merry moonbeams prank and chase; And all that sordid was and mean, Just Beauty, deathless and serene. O magic city of a dream! From glory unto glory gleam; And I will gaze and pity those Who on their pillows drowse and doze . . . And as I've nothing else to do, Of tea I'll make a rousing brew, And coax my pipes until they croon, And chant a ditty to the moon. There! my tea is black and strong. Inspiration comes with every sip. Now for the moon. The moon peeped out behind the hill As yellow as an apricot; Then up and up it climbed until Into the sky it fairly got; The sky was vast and violet; The poor moon seemed to faint in fright, And pale it grew and paler yet, Like fine old silver, rinsed and bright. And yet it climbed so bravely on Until it mounted heaven-high; Then earthward it serenely shone, A silver sovereign of the sky, A bland sultana of the night, Surveying realms of lily light.