Ernest Dowson[2]
Last night, ah,yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine,
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses,roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing,to put thy pale,lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
注释
[1]This title is from Horace's Ode: "I am not what I was under the reign of the lovely Cynara."
[2]Dowson,Ernest (1867-1900), English poet who lived a brief and reckless life. He fell in love with a waitress (Dowson's Cynara) and wrote his best work for her."Cynara", unable to understand his verse, ran away with a waiter and Dowson spent the rest of his life in squalor.
