匆匆
---朱自清
The Flight of Time
---Zhu Ziqing
--- Tr. by 许景城 (Peter Jingcheng Xu)
PhD Candidate, School of English, College of Arts and Humanities, Bangor University, LL57
2DG, UK
燕子去了，有再来的时候；杨柳枯了，有再青的时候；桃花谢了，有再开 的时候。但是，聪明的，你告诉我，我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢唐朝？——是
有人偷了他们罢：那是谁？丝路梁静茹又藏在何处呢？是他们自己逃走了罢：现在又到了 哪里呢？
Gone are swallows, but they may come back again; withered are willows, but they may turn green again; fading away are peach blossoms, but they may flower again. Now, you my sage would you plea tell me, why should our days roll by, never to return? Are they stolen by someone? If so, who could it be, and where could he or she hide them? If they run away themlves, where are they now?
我不知道他们给了我多少日子；但我的手确乎是渐渐空虚了。在默默里算
着，养什么乌龟好八千多日子已经从我手中溜去；像针尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在时间的流里，没有声音，也没有影
子。我不禁头涔涔而泪潸潸了。
I have no idea of how many days I am granted, but I could feel their weight in my hands becomes less and less. In contemplation, I count, there are more than eight thousand days having slipped away through my fingers. Like a drop of water falling off the point of a needle down to the a, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, and traceless. Aware of this, I feel sweats exuding from my forehead, and tears brimming in my eyes.新洲
去的尽管去了，来的尽管来着；去来的中间，又怎样地匆匆呢？早上我起来的时候，小屋里射进两三方斜斜的太
阳。太阳他有脚啊，轻轻悄悄地挪移了；我也茫茫然跟着旋转。于是——洗手的时候，日
子从水盆里过去；吃饭的
时候，日子从饭碗里过去；默默时，便从凝然的双眼前过去。我觉察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽时，他又从遮挽着
的手边过去。天黑时，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地从我身上跨过，从我脚边飞去了。等我睁开眼和太阳再见，这
算又溜走了一日。我掩着面叹息。但是新来的日子的影儿又开始在叹息里闪过了。
What should be gone will be gone for ever, and what should come will keep coming for good. Between going and coming, there is a flight of time! When I get up in the morning, the sunshine the slanting sun sheds beams into my room, edging away gently and quietly, as if he is footed. Without awareness, I feel mylf already echoing his revolution. Thus, when I wash my hands, the sink washes away the day. When I have a meal, the bowl vanishes the day. When I am in contemplation, my gazing eyes feel the day passing by. When I feel it in a rush, I try to hold it to only find it slipping away from
my outstretched hands. When night falls and I lie on my bed, it swiftly strides over my body and flits past my feet. When I wake and e the sun again, another day rolls by already. Burying my face in my hands, I heave a sigh, and the new day begins thrilling through it.
粉色的英文单词
在逃去如飞的日子里，在千门万户的世界里的我能做些什么呢？只有徘徊罢了，只
有匆匆罢了；在八千多日的匆匆里，除徘徊外，又剩些什么呢？过去的日子如轻烟，
梦见名人
被微风吹散了，如薄雾，被初阳蒸融了；我留着些什么痕迹呢？我何曾留着像游丝样
的痕迹呢？我赤裸裸来到这世界赵晔，转眼间也将赤裸裸地回去罢？但不能平的，为什么
偏要白白走这一遭啊？
Amid the fleeting days, what could I do in the world of hustle and bustle, but roaming
and sighing the flight of time? What have I done in the flight of eight thousand days, except roaming and roving? The bygone days like wisps of smoke, have been blown away by breezes and like clusters of thin mist, have been evaporated by
the rising sun. What trace have I left behind me? Alas! Nothing! Nay, not even a gossamer-like trail! I have come to this world stark naked, and in a wink, shall I go back as stark naked as the beginning? However, I can’t get over it: why must I get through this journey of life for nothing?
你聪明的，告诉我，我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢？
You my sage, plea tell me, why should our days roll by, never to return?
翻译时间：2011-3-21
From /s/blog_49f5af5901013yt6.html
其他译本：
译本 1：
Transient Days
---Translated by Zhang Peiji （张培基）
If swallows go away, they will come back again. If willows wither, they will turn green again. If peach blossoms fade, they will flower again. But, tell me, you the wi, why should our days go by never to return? Perhaps they have been stolen by someone. But
who could it be and where could he hide them? Perhaps they have just run away by themlves. But where could they be at the prent moment?
I don't know how many days I am entitled to altogether, but my quota of them is undoubtedly wearing away. Counting up silently, I find that more than 8,000 days have already slipped away through my fingers. Like a drop of water
falling off a needle point into the ocean, my days are quietly dripping into the stream of time without leaving a trace. At the thought of this, sweat oozes from my forehead and tears trickle down my cheeks.
What is gone is gone, what is to come keeps coming. How swift is the transition in between! When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun casts two or three squarish patches of light into my small room. The sun has feet too, edging away softly and stealthily. And, without knowing it, I am already caught in its revolution .Thus the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands; vanishes in the rice bowl when I have my meal; pass away quietly before the fixed gaze of my eyes when I am lost in reverie. Aware of its fleeting prence, I reach out for it only to find it brushing past my out-stretched hands. In the evening, when I lie on my bed, it nimbly strides over my body and flits past my feet. By the time when I open my eyes to meet the sun again, another day is already gone. I heave a sign, my head buried in my hands. But, in the midst of my sighs, a new day is flashing past.
