肖恩·宾 | 朗读《青春挽歌》

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle.

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes.

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds.

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

命如草芥的亡者，谁为你鸣响丧钟？

惟有那火炮愤懑的轰隆

惟有那长枪断续的哀鸣

把不及倾吐的遗憾散播

此刻不再有嘲讽

却也无祷告或丧钟

没有谁大放悲声，亦不需唱诗班歌颂

炮弹疯狂齐声共鸣，彷如嚎哭的怨灵

山河悲怆满萦，吹响进攻的号令

是哪一方烛火促你踏上征程？

并非手中蜡炬，乃是眼底温情

道别如此神圣，在目光中澎湃翻涌

少女面容的苍白，是亡者洁白的棺布

似丧花洒遍坟冢，是生者隐忍的柔情

每一次夜幕徐展，都铺就吊丧的挽联