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I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

今夜我可以写出最伤心的诗。

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,

比如写下：”夜空布满了星辰，

and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

发蓝的群星在远方抖颤。”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

夜间的风在空中盘旋，歌唱。

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

今夜我可以写出最伤心的诗。

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

我爱过她，有时她也爱过我。

On nights like this,

许多像今天的夜晚，

I held her in my arms.

我把她搂在怀中。

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

在无边的天空下，我无数次地吻过她。

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.

她爱过我，有时我也爱过她。

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

怎麼没爱上她那专注的大眼睛呢?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

今夜我可以写出最伤心的诗。

To think I don’t have her.

想想我已经没有了她。

To feel that I’ve lost her.

失去她我会难过。

To hear the immense night,

我感到夜空漫漫，

more immense without her.

没有她更加漫漫。

And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

诗歌落到心田犹如露水落到草原。

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.

我的爱不能留住她又有何妨。

The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

夜空布满星群，她已不在我身旁。

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.

这就是一切。远方有人在歌唱。在远方。

My soul is lost without her.

失去了她，我打心底里不痛快。不痛快。

As if to bring her near,

似乎是为了接近她，

my eyes search for her.

我的目光在寻找她。

My heart searches for her,

我的心在寻找她，

and she is not with me.

可她已不在我的身旁。

The same night that whitens the same trees.

同是今宵使得同样的树木泛出白光。

We, we who were,

我俩，同是我俩，

we are the same no longer.

已不再是同样的我俩。

I no longer love her, true,

的确，我已经不再爱她，

but how much I loved her.

可是我曾经多麼爱她哟。

My voice searched the wind,

我的心声在寻找着和风，

to touch her ear.

为的是能吹进她的耳中。

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s.

属于别人，她将属于别人。

As she once, belonged to my kisses.

如同在我亲吻之前。

Her voice, her light body.

她的声音，她那鲜亮的身躯。

她那不可测的眼睛。

I no longer love her, true,

的确，我已经不再爱她，

but perhaps I love her.

可是说不定我还喜欢她。

Love is so short,

爱情是如此短暂，

and oblivion so long.

可是遗忘却如此长久。

Because on nights like this,

因为像今天这样的夜晚，

I held her in my arms,

我曾经把她搂在怀中，

my soul is lost without her.

失去她，我打心底里不痛快。不痛快。

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,

尽管这或许是她最后一次让我痛苦。

and this may be the last poem I write for her.

尽管这或许是我为她写下的最后的歌。

聂鲁达，智利当代著名诗人、政治活动家，1971年获得诺贝尔文学奖。聂鲁达的一生有两个主题，一个是政治，另一个是爱情。