張培基英譯中國現代散文選 匆匆

摘要：本文是朱自清的早期散文，寫於1922年7月28日。文章充滿詩意，對時光的消失深表感嘆和無奈，流露出當時青年知識分子的苦悶和憂傷情緒。

匆 匆

朱自清

燕子去了，有再來的時候;楊柳枯了，在再青的時候;桃花謝了，有再開的時候1。但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子爲什麼一去不復返呢?——是有人偷了他們罷：那是誰?又藏在何處呢?是他們自己逃走了罷：現在又到了那裏呢2?

我不知道他們給了我多少日子3;但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了4。在默默裏算着，八千多日子已經從我手中溜去5;像針尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在時間的流裏，沒有聲音，也沒有影子。我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了6。

去的儘管去了，來的儘管來着;去來的中間，又怎樣地匆匆呢?早上我起來的時候，小屋裏射進兩三方7斜斜的太陽。太陽他也有腳啊，輕輕悄悄地挪移8了;我也茫茫然跟着旋轉。於是——洗手的時候，日子從水盆裏過去;吃飯的時候，日子從飯碗裏過去;默默時，便從凝然的雙眼前過去。我覺察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽時，他又從遮挽着的手邊過去，天黑時，我躺在牀上，他便伶伶俐俐在從我身上跨過，從我腳邊飛去了。等我睜開眼和太陽再見，這算又溜走了一日。我掩着面嘆息。但是新來的日子的影兒又開始在嘆息裏閃過了。

在逃去如飛的日子裏，在千門萬戶的世界裏的我能做些什麼呢?只有徘徊罷了，只有匆匆罷了;在八千多日的匆匆裏，除徘徊外，又剩些什麼呢?過去的日子如輕煙，被微風吹散了，如薄霧，被初陽蒸融了;我留着些什麼痕跡呢?我何曾留着像遊絲樣的痕跡呢?我赤裸裸來到這世界，轉眼間也將赤裸裸的回去罷?但不能平的9，爲什麼偏要白白走這一遭啊?

你聰明的，告訴我，我們的日子爲什麼一去不復返呢?

Transient Days

Zhu ziqing

If swallows go away, they will come back again. If willows wither, they will turn green again. If peach blossoms fade, they will flower again. But, tell me, you the wise, why should our days go by never to return? Perhaps they have been stolen by someone. But who could it be and where could he hide them? Perhaps they have just run away by themselves. But where could they be at the present moment?

I don’t know how many days I am entitled to altogether, but my quota of then is undoubtedly wearing away. Counting up silently, I find that more than 8000 days have already slipped away through my fingers. Like a drop of water falling off a needle point into the ocean, my days are quietly dripping into the stream of time without leaving a trace. At the thought of this, sweat oozes from my forehead and tears trickle down my cheeks.

What is gone is gone, what is to come keeps coming. How swift is the transition in between! When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun casts two or three squarish patches of light into my small room. The sun has feet too, edging away softly and stealthily. And, without knowing it, I am already caught in its revolution. Thus the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands; vanishes in the rice bowl when I have my meal; passes away quietly before the fixed gaze of my eyes when I am lost in reverie. Aware of its fleeting presence, I reach out for it only to find it brushing past my outstretched hands. In the evening, when I lie on my bed, it nimbly strides over my body and flits past my feet. By the time when I open my eyes to meet the sun again, another day is already gone. I heave a sigh, my head buried in my hands. But, in the midst of my sighs, a new day is flashing past.

Living in this world with its fleeting days and teeming millions, what can I do but waver and wander and live a transient life? What have I been doing during the 8000 fleeting days except wavering and wandering? The bygone days, like wisps of smoke, have been dispersed by gentle winds, and, like thin mists, have been evaporated by the rising sun. What traces have I left behind? No, nothing, not even gossamer-like traces. I have come to this world stark naked, and in the twinkling of an eye, I am to go back as stark naked as ever. However, I am taking it very much to heart: why should I be made to pass through this world for nothing at all?

O you the wise, would you tell me please: why should our days go by never to return?