Asia, Asia, Asia!
Olden and wondrous land of tales dreamt by nursemaids,
Where sleeping fantasy lies like an empress fair
In her forest o'erflowing with mystery.
Asia.
I should like to set out aboard the sea-bound schooner
Which is rocking this evening in port,
Mysterious and solitary;
And which at last unfurls its flutt'ring sails of purple
Like an immense night bird aloft in the gold'n sky.
I should like to sail off towards islands of flow'rs
While list'ning to the perverse sea singing
In its old and bewitching rhythm.
I'd like to see Damascus, and cities of Persia
Where light minarets pierce through the air.
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I'd like to see those fine turbans of silk
Over black faces with white teeth gleaming;
I should wish to see eyes shaded with love
From which pupils shine brilliantly with joy
Against complexions as tawny as oranges;
I should like to see fine vestments made of velvet
And flowing robes with long, long fringes.
I'd like to see earthenware pipes stuck into pursed mouths
Wholly surrounded by white whiskers;
I'd like to see rough-edged merchants cast dirty glances,
And the qadis and the viziers,
Who with just the mere movement of their crooked finger
Can dispense life or death at their desire's whim.
I'd see Persia, and India, then also China:
Plump mandarins sitting under umbrellas,
And princesses with hands most lithe,
And wise scholars who yet are quarrling
Over poetry and over beauty;
I should like to pause in an enchanted palace
And, like any foreign traveller,
Contemplate at leisure those paintings of landscapes,
On finest fabrics in frames crafted out of fir,
Picturing someone in the middle of a grove;
I'd like to see cruel assassins smile as
An executioner lops a guiltless head
With his big Oriental scimitar.
I'd like to see base paupers and grand queens, too;
I'd like to see red roses and red blood;
I'd like to see death caused by love, or else by hatred.
And later then I'll return home
To share my adventure with curious young dreamers;
And I will raise--just like Sinbad--my old Arabian goblet
Up to my lips every now and then,
Interrupting the tale for artful effect
Darkness soothes and my master sleeps,
Coiffed in a cone-shaped night-bonnet of silk,
With his long nose yellow on his white whiskers.
But I. I'm wakened and roused again,
And I hear from outdoors
The lone song of a flute o'erflowing
At first with sorrow but then with such joy!
An air turning from languishing to frivolous,
Which my own dearest lover plays.
And as I move closer to the window,
To me it's as though each note has come winging
From his flute onto my cheek
Like a mysterious caress.
Your eyes are soft like those of any maiden,
My young stranger,
And the delicate curve
Of your fine features, shadowed with a silk down,
Forms an even more seductive outline.
Your lips form a song at the foot of my doorstep
In a tongue incoherent yet charming,
Rather like music tuned falsely ...
Enter! And let my wine give you refreshment ...
But no ... you pass on,
And from my threshold I watch you depart
As you make a last graceful gesture for me,
With a curved hip casually swaying
From your saunter that's both girlish and languid ...
(引用自https://sites.google.com/site/edwardlein/Home/translations/ravel-klingsor-sheherazade-english-translation-，如有疑義，隨即刪除。)