高一语文《鸟啼》中英文对照版

高一语文《鸟啼》中英文比较版高一语文《鸟啼》中英文比较版高一语文《鸟啼》中英文比较版Thefrostheldformanyweeks,untilthebirdsweredyingrapidly.Everywhereinthefieldsandunderthehedgeslaytheraggedremainsoflapwings,starlings,thrushes,redwings,innumerableragged,bloodycloaksofbirds,whencethefleshwaseatenbyinvisiblebeastsofprey.Then,quitesuddenly,onemorning,thechangecame.Thewindwenttothesouth,cameofftheseawarmandsoothing.Intheafternoontherewerelittlegleamsofsunshine,andthedovesbegan,withoutinterval,slowlyandawkwardlytocoo.Thedoveswerecooing,thoughwithalabouredsound,asiftheywerestillwinter-stunned.Nevertheless,alltheafternoontheycontinuedtheirnoise,inthemildair,beforethefrosthadthawedofftheroad.Ateveningthewindblewgently,stillgatheringabruisingqualityoffrostfromthehardearth.Then,intheyellow-gleamysunset,wildbirdsbegantowhistlefaintlyintheblackthornthicketsofthestream-bottom.Itwasstartlingandalmostfrightening,aftertheheavysilenceoffrost.Howcouldtheysingatonce,whenthegroundwasthicklystrewnwiththetorncarcassesofbirds?Yetoutoftheeveningcametheuncertain,silverysoundsthatmadeone’ssoulstartalert,almostwithfear.Howcouldthelittlesilverbuglessoundtherallysoswiftly,inthesoftair,whentheearthwasyetbound?Yetthebirdscontinuedtheirwhistling,ratherdimlyandbrokenly,butthrowingthethreadsofsilver,germinatingnoiseintotheair.Itwasalmostapaintorealize,soswiftly,thenewworld.“Lemondeestmort.Vivelemonde!”Butthebirdsomittedeventhefirstpartoftheannouncement,theircrywasonlyafaint,blind,fecund“vive!”Thereisanotherworld.Thewinterisgone.Thereisanewworldofspring.Thevoiceoftheturtleisheardintheland.Butthefleshshrinksfromsosuddenatransition.Surelythecallispremature,whiletheclodsarestillfrozen,andthegroundislitteredwiththeremainsofwings!Yetwehavenochoice.Inthebottomsofimpenetrableblackthorn,eacheveningandmorningnow,outflickersawhistlingofbirds.Wheredoesitcomefrom,thesong?Aftersolongacruelty,howcantheymakeitupsoquickly?Butitbubblesthroughthem,theyarelikelittlewell-heads,littlefountain-headswhencethespringtricklesandbubblesforth.Itisnotoftheirowndoing.Intheirthroatsthenewlifedistilsitselfintosound.Itistherisingofthesilverysapofanewsummer,gurglingitselfforth.Allthetime,whilsttheearthlaychokedandkilledandwinter-mortified,thedeepunderspringswerequiet.Theyonlywaitfortheponderousencumbranceoftheoldordertogiveway,yieldinthethaw,andtheretheyare,asilverrealmatonce.Underthesurgeofruin,unmitigatedwinter,liesthesilverpotentialityofallblossom.Onedaytheblacktidemustspenditselfandfadeback.Thenall-suddenlyappearsthecrocus,hoveringtriumphantintheyear,andweknowtheorderhaschanged,thereisanewregime,soundofanew“Vive!Vive!”Itisnouseanymoretolookatthetornremnantsofbirdsthatlieexposed.Itisnolongeranyuserememberingthesullenthunderoffrostandtheintolerablepressureofcolduponus.Forwhetherwewillornot,theyaregone.Thechoiceisnotours.Wemanyremainwintryanddestructiveforalittlelonger,ifwewishit,butthewinterisgoneoutofus,andwilly-nillyourheartssingalittleatsunset.Evenwhilstwestareattheraggedhorrorofbirdsscatteredbroadcastpart-eaten,thesoft,unevencooingofthepigeonripplesfromtheouthouses,andthereisafaintsilverwhistlinginthebushescometwilight.Nomatter,westandandstareatthetornandunsightlyruinsoflife,wewatchtheweary,mutilatedcolumnsofwinterretreatingunderoureyes.Yetinourearsarethesilvervividbuglesofanewcreationadvancingonusfrombehind,weheartherollingofthesoftandhappydrumsofthedoves.Wemaynotchoosetheworld.Wehavehardlyanychoiceforourselves.Wefollowwithoureyesthebloodyandhorridlineofmarchofthisextremewinter,asitpassesaway.Butwecannotholdbackthespring.Wecannotmakethebirdssilent,preventthebubblingofthewood-pigeons.Wecannotstaythefineworldofsilver-fecundcreationfromgatheringitselfandtakingplaceuponus.Whetherwewillormo,thedaphnetreewillsoonbegivingoffperfume,thelambsdancingontwofeet,thecelandineswilltwinkleallovertheground,therewillbenewheavenandnewearth.Foritisinus,aswellaswithoutus.Thosewhocanmayfollowthecolumnsofwinterintheirretreatfromofftheearth.Someofus,wehavenochoice,thespringiswithinus,thesilverfountainbeginstobubbleunderourbreast,thereisagladnessinspiteofourselves.Andontheinstantweacceptthegladness!Thefirstdayofchange,outwhistlesanunusual,interruptedpean,afragmentthatwillaugmentitselfimperceptibly.Andthisinspiteoftheextremebitternessofthesuffering,inspiteofthemyriadsoftorndead.Suchalong,longwinter,andthefrostonlybrokeyesterday.Yetitseems,already,wecannotrememberit.Itisstrangelyremote,likeafar-offdarkness.Itisasunrealasadreaminthenight.Thisisthemorningofreality,whenweareourselves.Thisisnaturalandreal,theglimmeringofanewcreationthatstirsinusandaboutus.Weknowtherewaswinter,long,fearful.Weknowtheearthwasstrangledandmortified,weknowthebodyoflifewastornandscatteredbroadcast.Butwhatisthisretrospectiveknowledge?Itissomethingextraneoustous,extraneoustothisthatwearenow.andwhatweare,andwhat,itseems,wealwayshavebeen,isthisquickeninglovelysilverplasmofpurecreativity.Allthemortificationandtearing,ahyes,itwasuponus,encompassingus.Itwaslikeastormoramistorafallingfromaheight.Itwasentangleduponus,likebatsinourhair,drivingusmad.Butitwasneverreallyourinnermostself.Within,wewerealwaysapart,wewerethis,thislimpidfountainofsilver,thenquiescent,risingandbreakingnowintotheflowering.Itisstrange,theutterincompatibilityofdeathwithlife.Whilstthereisdeath,lifeisnottobefound.Itisalldeath,oneoverwhelmingflood.Andthenanewtiderises,anditisalllife,afountainofsilveryblissfulness.Itisoneortheother.Weareforlife,orwearefordeath,oneortheother,butneverinouressencebothatonce.Deathtakesus,andallisatornredness,passingintodarkness.Liferises,andwearefaintfinejetsofsilverrunningouttoblossom.Allisincompatiblewithall.Thereisthesilvery-speckled,incandescent-lovelythrush,whistlingpipinglyhisfirstsongintheblackthornthicket.Howishetobeconnectedwiththebloody,featheredunsightlinessofthrush-remnantsjustoutsidethebushes?Thereisnoconnection.Theyarenottobereferredtheonetotheother.Whereoneis,theotherisnot.Inthekingdomofdeaththesilverysongisnot.Butwherethereislife,thereisnodeath.Nodeathwhatever,onlysilverygladness,perfect,theotherworld.Theblackbirdcannotstophissong,neithercanthepigeon.Ittakesplaceinhim,eventhoughallhisracewasyesterdaydestroyed.Hecannotmourn,orbesilent,oradheretothedead.Ofthedeadheisnot,sincelifehaskepthim.Thedeadmustburytheirdead.Lifehasnowtakenholdonhimandtossedhimintothenewetherofanewfirmament,whereheburstsintosongasifhewerecombustible.Whatisthepast,thoseothers,nowheistossedcleanintothenew,acrosstheuntranslatabledifference?Inhissongisheardthefirstbrokennessanduncertaintyofthetransition.Thetransitfromthegripofdeathintonewbeingisadeathfromdeath,initssheermetempsychosisadizzyagony.Butonlyforasecond,themomentoftrajectory,thepassagefromonestatetotheotherfromthegripofdeathtothelibertyofnewness.Inamomentheisinthekingdomofwonder,singingatthecenterofanewcreation.Thebirddidnothangback.Hedidnotclingtohisdeathandhisdead.Thereisnodeath,andthedeadhaveburiedtheirdead.Tossedintothechasmbetweentwoworlds,heliftedhiswingsindread,andfoundhimselfcarriedontheimpulse.Weareliftedtobecastawayintothenewbeginning.Underourheartsthefountainsurges,totossusforth.Whocanthwarttheimpulsethatcomesuponus?Itcomesfromtheunknownuponus,anditbehovesustopassdelicatelyandexquisitelyuponthesubtlenewwindfromheaven,conveyedlikebirdsinunreasoningmigrationfromdeathtolife.译文：严寒连续了好几个星期，鸟儿很快地去世了。田间与灌木篱下，横陈着田凫、椋鸟、画眉等数不清的腐鸟的血衣，鸟儿的肉已被奥密的老饕吃净了。突然间，一个清早，变化出现了。风刮到了南方，海上飘来了温暖和宽慰。午后，太阳露出了几星光明，鸽子开始不中止地缓慢而笨拙地发出咕咕的叫声。这声音显得有些费力，忧如还没有从隆冬的打击下缓过气来。夜晚时，从河床的蔷薇棘丛中，开始传出野鸟稍微的啼鸣。当大地还散落着厚厚的一层鸟的尸体的时候，它们怎么会突然歌唱起来？从夜色中浮起的隐约的清越的声音，令人惊讶。当大地仍在拘束中时，那小小的清越之声已经在纤弱的空气中呼叫春天了。它们的啼鸣，诚然含糊，若断若续，却把明快而萌发的声音抛向苍穹。冬天走开了。一个新的春天的世界。田地间响起斑鸠的叫声。在不能够进入的曲折丛底，每一个夜晚以及每一个清早，都会闪烁出鸟儿的啼鸣。它从哪儿来呀？那歌声？在这么长的严酷后，鸟儿们怎么会这么快就复生？它爽朗，像泉水，从那处，春天慢慢滴落又喷涌而出。再生活在鸟儿们喉中凝成悦耳的声音。它开辟了银色的通道，为着新鲜的春日，一路潺潺而行。当冬天控制所有时，深埋着的春天的活力一片默然，只等着旧序次深重的阻截退去。冰消雪化此后，瞬时间现出银光闪烁的王国。在破坏所有的冬天巨浪之下，冬眠着的是难得的百花吐艳的潜力。有一天，黑色的浪潮精力耗尽，慢慢后移，番红花就会突然间显现，成功地摇晃。于是我们知道，规律变了，这是一片新的天地，喊出了崭新的生活！生活！不用再凝视那些裸露四野的破碎的鸟尸，也不用再回忆严寒中愁闷的响雷，以及重压在我们身上的酷冷。冬天走开了，无论怎样，我们的心会放出歌声。即使当我们凝视那些散落遍地、尸身不整的鸟儿腐化而可怕的情形时，屋外也会飘来一阵阵鸽子的咕咕声，那从灌木丛中发出的稍微的啼鸣。那些破碎不堪的破坏了的生命，意味着冬天疲倦而残缺不全的队伍的撤退。我们耳中充塞的，是再生的造物清明而生动的号音，那造物从身后追追上来，我们听到了鸟儿们发出的轻柔而快乐的隆隆鼓声。世界不能够选择。我们用眼睛随从极端的隆冬那沾满血迹的骇人的行列，直到它走过去。春天不能够控制，任何力量都不能够使鸟儿静静，不