Roses and Rue

by Oscar Wilde

Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,

Were it worth the pleasure,

We never could learn love's song,

We are parted too long

Could the passionate past that is fled

Call back its dead,

Could we live it all over again,

Were it worth the pain!

I remember we used to meet

By an ivied seat,

And you warbled each pretty word

With the air of a bird;

And your voice had a quaver in it,

p>

Just like a linnet,

And shook, as the blackbird's throat

With its last big note;

And your eyes, they were green and gray

Like an April day,

But lit into amethyst

When I stopped and kissed;

And your mouth, it would never smile

For a long, long while,

Then it rippled all over with laughter

Five minutes after.

You were always afraid of a shower,

Just like a flower:

I remember you started and ran

When the rain began.

For no one could match you,

You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,

Little wings to your feet.

I remember your hair - did I tie it?

For it always ran riot -

Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:

These things are old.

I remember so well the room,

And the lilac bloom

That beat at the dripping pane

In the warm June rain;

And the color of your gown,

It wa

s amber-brown,

And two yellow satin bows

From the shoulders rose.

And the handkerchief of French lace

Which you held to your face-

Had a small tear left a stain?

Or was it the rain?

On your hand as it waved adieu

p>

There were veins of blue;

In your voice as it said good-bye

Was a petulant cry,

"You have only wasted your life."

(Ah, that was the knife!)

When I rushed through the garden gate

It was all too late.

Could we live it over again,

Were it worth the pain,

Could the passionate past that is fled

Call back its dead !

Well, if my heart must break,

Dear love, for your sake,

It will break in music, I know,

Poets' hearts break so.

But strange that I was not told

That the brain can hold

In a tiny ivory cell

God's heaven and hell.

To L.L.

Rose and Sorrow

Can we still dig out this long-buried treasure?

Is the joy worth it?

We can never learn the song of love because we have been apart for too long.

Can this lost passion of the past

can still recall its dead?

Can we go through it again, and is the pain worth it?

I remember that we often met

On the seat covered with ivy,

You sang every beautiful word tactfully

And there is a vibrato in your voice,

Like a rosefinch,

And it vibrates like a mountain bird's throat

to produce it The last sonorous note;

And your eyes, green and gray

Like April days

When I bend down to kiss

But it shines like amethyst;

And your mouth does not smile

It lasts for a long time, for a long time,

Then the laughter becomes like Ripples rippled in all directions——

After five minutes.

You have always been afraid of showers,

Like flowers:

I remember when the rain started to fall

You jumped up and run.

I remember that I can never catch up with you,

No one can compare with you,

Because you have a beautiful, shining and agile< /p>

Small wings - on your feet.

I remember your hair - did I tie it up?

Because it is always restless and unrestrained -

Like the intertwined golden sunshine,

These are all things of the past.

I remember that room so clearly,

The lilac flowers

beating against the dripping windowpane

In the warm six In the moonlight rain;

And the color of your robe,

is as golden as amber,

two yellow satin bows

on your Standing tall with shoulders lifted.

You are holding a handkerchief trimmed with French lace

Moving towards your cheek -

Is it the mark left by a small teardrop?

Or raindrops?

In your farewell hand

There are blue veins;

In your farewell voice

There is an anxious feeling. Shout,

"You're just wasting your life."

(Ah, that's the knife!)

As I rush across the garden threshold< /p>

It's too late.

Can we experience it again?

Is the pain worth it?

Can this lost passion of the past

can still recall its dead!

No matter, if my heart must be broken,

Dear lover, because of you,

Let it break in the music, I know,

p>

The hearts of poets are so broken.

However, the strange thing is that no one told me that

in this milky white chamber in the mind,

can actually have God at the same time

of heaven and hell.

English is the original text, Chinese is the translation