精灵语诗歌

精灵语版：

I vrennil vain ben-dihenad

Man naeg mathal, ae maethor veren,

Erui reniol ar nimp?

I thâr pellen uin ael

Ar ú-linnar in aew.



Man naeg mathal, ae maethor veren,

I naer ar pen-lalaith?

I dorech en-nâr pant,

Ar tolthad en-iau coren.



Cenin loth erin hin lín,

Na naeg ar lhêw limminnen,

Ar mi nêf lín veril firiel,

I lagor pêl.



Govannen vrennil na i nain,

I bainwain, hên in-edhil,

Finnel dín and, i dâl dín lim,

Ar hin dín vrêg.



Agoren rê an ndôl dín,

Ar mêr adh rainc ar loth;

Cenn na nin sui meliel,

Ar pent na lhoss velui.



Nan roch nín meleg harn,

Ar ú-gennin nad an aur and,

An tirn na venath linnol,

in glêr edhellin.



Hirn hylch velui enni,

Ar 'lê throvan ar Viruvor,

Na ú-istassen lam e pent,

'Gen melin thenin'



Tunc nin na i fela dín,

Ar ennas nêr dín siriant,

Ar ennas sollin hin dín mrêg

mithol canad lui.



Ar tunc nan êdh nin ennas,

Ar ennas oltha enni, ae,

I ôl vedui i oltha uireb

Nan dalad amon ring.



Cennin erain thind, ar conin nimp,

ar vaethyr vith, sui firn pain;

Nallant 'I vrennil vain ben-dihenad

Si baugla le.'



Cennin i nêf thairn hýn,

Nan gortheb pith edrannen pann,

Ar echui nin hirnin si,

Nan dalad amon ring.



Ar sen an darthon hi,

Erui reniol ar nimp,

Ir thâr pellen uin ael

Ar ú-linnar in aew.



John Keats
英文版：

La Belle Dame sans Merci

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake.

And no birds sing.



O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.



I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.



I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful, a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.



I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.



I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend and sing,

A faery's song.



She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said -

'I love thee true'.



She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.



And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -

The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill side.



I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci

Thee hath in thrall.'



I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.



And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.



John Keats