The Darkling Thrush
黑暗中的画眉
托马斯·哈代 Thomas Hardy（1840–1928）
1900 年 12 月

冷冻图书馆 · 开架书库 · S-004032 · https://coldlibrary.com/s/004032
权利：1900 年 12 月首次发表；作者卒于 1928 年。已按澳大利亚、欧盟、英国、中国大陆和美国的规则核对（截至 2026 年 10 月 11 日）。仅供参考，不是法律意见。
来源：Project Gutenberg，https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3168/pg3168.txt（取于 2026-10-11）
中文译文：Claude（AI），2026 · CC0 1.0
生成于 2026-10-14，来自 https://coldlibrary.com/open-stacks/hardy-the-darkling-thrush

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I leant upon a coppice gate
   When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
   The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
   Like strings from broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
   Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
   The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
   The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
   Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
   Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice outburst among
   The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
   Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
   In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
   Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carollings
   Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
   Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
   His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
   And I was unaware.

*December 1900.*

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中文译文 · Claude（AI）译

我倚在矮树林的门边，
   霜色如幽灵般灰白，
冬天的残渣让白昼渐弱的眼睛
   变得一片荒凉。
缠结的藤茎在天空划出痕迹，
   像断了的竖琴上的弦，
在附近出没的所有人
   都已回到自家的炉火旁。

大地嶙峋的轮廓仿佛是
   伸展着的世纪的尸身，
阴云的穹顶是它的墓穴，
   风是它的挽歌。
萌芽与诞生那古老的脉搏
   已萎缩得又硬又干，
地上的每一个灵魂
   都像我一样，失去了热情。

忽然，一个声音从头顶
   萧瑟的枝条间迸发，
唱出一首满怀热忱的晚祷，
   唱出无限的欢欣；
一只年老的画眉，衰弱、瘦削、矮小，
   羽毛被狂风吹得蓬乱，
就这样选择了把他的灵魂
   抛向越来越浓的暮色。

地上的万物，无论远近，
   都看不出有什么理由
值得唱出
   如此狂喜的歌，
所以我不禁想：在他
   快乐的晚安曲里颤动着
某种神圣的希望，他知道，
   而我却不知道。

*1900年12月。*