世新中文 ‧ 中國文學名著英譯選讀教室

 Spring

Oh, the waiting, the waiting！ Finally the east winds begin to blow and spring is just around the corner. The world seems to have awakened from its slumber as, excitedly, it opens its eyes.

The mountain take on a luster, the waters start to rise, and there is a blush on the sun.

In the gardens and in the countryside new grass, tender and green, secretly threads its way up through the earth; everywhere you look the ground is covered with it. Some people are seated, some are lying down, and others are turning somersaults; then there are games of ball, foot races, and hide-and-seek. The breezes are gentle; the grass, soft as cotton.

Peach trees, apricot trees, and pear trees jostle each other, all of them in magnificent bloom, each trying to outdo the other. There are fiery reds, pinks like the sunset, and snowy whites-and always the abounding fragrance of flowers. Close your eyes, and the trees seem already heavily laden with peaches and apricots and pears. Beneath the flowers a teeming host of bees fills the air with the sound of their buzzing, as butterflies, large and small, flit to and fro. Everywhere three are wild flowers of many kinds, those with names and those without, scattered throughout the thickets and looking like countless eyes or like stars, here and there winking at you.

“When the willows are green, the winds that touch your face carry no chill.” Oh, how true！ They are like the caress of your mother’s hand. And the winds bring an aroma of freshly turned earth mixed with the scent of new grass and the bouquet of a myriad flowers, all blended together in the slightly moistened air. Birds make their nests among the luxuriant flowers and tender leaves, and in delight they blend their voices; from their throats come the crisp, boastful strains of their songs of enchantment, which merge with the sounds of gentle breezes and flowing water. Then you can also hear a lilting tune from a shepherd boy’s flute, played the day long as he sits astride his bullock.

Most prevalent are the rains; a single rainfall can last two or three days. But don’t be distressed！ Just look-it is like the fine hair of a bullock, like delicate embroidery needles, or fine silk, densely slanting downward as woven strands, covering the roofs of houses with a blanket of fine mist. The leaves of the trees are so green they sparkle, and the grass is so green it hurts your eyes. Toward evening the lamps are lit, giving off a pale yellow glow that accentuates a night of tranquility and peace. Off in the countryside, on the small paths and at the sides of stone bridges, people stroll leisurely under their grass cloaks and hats, and whose grass huts are scattered around the countryside, standing silently in the rain.

In the sky the number of kites slowly increases as the number of children on the ground grows. In the city and in the countryside the populace seems to come to life; the old and the young emerge in spirited animation, flexing their muscles and stirring up their spirits, each occupying himself in his own pursuits. Spring is the time when plans for the year ahead must be made; when starting out, there is an abundance of time, and everywhere there is hope.

Spring is like a newborn child, brand new from head to toe, starting out in life.

Spring is like a blossoming and graceful maiden, laughing and then walking on.

Spring is like a robust youth with limbs of iron, leading us on the road ahead.

1924