“hark, do you hear the drum— ‘turn, turn,’ — there are only two notes, always, ‘turn, turn’ listen to the women’s song of mourning! hear the cry of the priest! in her long red robe stands the hindoo widow by the funeral pile
当她躺到丈夫的尸体上时，火焰在她周围升起；
the flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband;
但这个印度女人心里想着的是那圈子里的活人；
but the hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle;
想着他，她的儿子，是他点燃了那些火焰。
of him, her son, who lighted those flames
那双闪亮的眼睛比即将把她的身体化为灰烬的火焰更让她心痛。
those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes
心中的火焰能在火葬柴堆的火焰中熄灭吗？”
can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile”
“我一点都不明白。” 小格尔达说。
“i don’t understand that at all,” said little gerda
“这就是我的故事。” 卷丹花说。
“that is my story,” said the tiger - lily
那旋花说什么呢？
what, says the convolvulus
“在那边狭窄的道路附近有一座古老骑士的城堡；
“near yonder narrow road stands an old knight’s castle;
茂密的常春藤爬满了古老的残墙，一片叶子压着一片叶子，一直爬到阳台上，阳台上站着一位美丽的少女。
thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden
她俯身在栏杆上，朝路上张望。
she bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road
花茎上没有一朵玫瑰比她更娇艳；
no rose on its stem is fresher than she;
被风吹动的苹果花没有她飘动得那么轻盈。
no apple - blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves
当她俯身时，她华丽的丝绸衣服沙沙作响，她喊道：‘他还不来吗？’
her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, ‘will he not e’
“你说的是凯吗？”
“is it kay you mean”
格尔达问。
asked gerda
“我只是在讲我梦中的一个故事。” 花儿回答道。
“i am only speaking of a story of my dream,” replied the flower
小雪花莲说了什么呢？
what, said the little snow - drop
“两棵树之间挂着一根绳子；
“between two trees a rope is hanging;
绳子上有一块木板；
there is a piece of board upon it;
这是一个秋千。
it is a swing
两个漂亮的小女孩，穿着雪白的裙子，帽子上长长的绿色丝带随风飘动，正坐在上面荡秋千。
two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging
她们比她们高的哥哥站在秋千上；
their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing;
他用一只胳膊搂着绳子来稳住自己；
he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself;
一只手拿着一个小碗，另一只手拿着一个陶制烟斗；
in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe;
他正在吹泡泡。
he is blowing bubbles
随着秋千晃动，泡泡向上飞起，反射出最美丽的变幻色彩。
as the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colors
最后一个泡泡还挂在烟斗的碗上，在风中摇摆。