王尔德英文论文文献综述

中文:英文原创（还是英文的好）：王尔德全名是奥斯卡·王尔德。他是英国著名的剧作家、散文家和诗人。但是，他创作的童话比他其他的作品流传更广，传播到了世界上每一个有孩子的地方。他生于都柏林的贵族之家。王尔德毕业于牛津大学。他从小就受到浓郁的文学熏陶。在都柏林三圣大学读书期间，他阅读了大量的古典文学作品，再加上本身才华出众，很快就在文学上获得了巨大成功。王尔德身材高大，仪表堂堂，稍带点女人气。他衣着奇特，经常从历史书画中得到灵感来装饰自己，像个别出心裁的花花公子。王尔德富有一种诗人气质，大学时曾得到圣三一诗歌大奖，但后来他并没有走上写诗的道路，而是选择了写评论小说和剧本。虽然他主要以成人作家而著称，但他的早期作品中有两本童话集：《快乐王子故事集》和《石榴之家》已载入英国儿童文学史册。王尔德在巴黎与伦敦遇到一些当时的印象主义画家作家评论家，他从各种观点中汲取养料。他从一个传统美学的拥护者转化为唯美主义的创导者。他对唯美的演讲，在美国受到热情洋溢的欢迎，伦敦挑剔的公众也对他敞开双臂，三十还不到，已极负盛名，成为唯美主义的先驱。1884年，王尔德结了婚，生活富裕，心宽体胖。1885年--1886年，王尔德的两个儿子先后出生，当了父亲的王尔德在和儿子们在耳鬓厮磨之中获得许多灵感。他与儿子们在乡间度过的这段时间是他创作的黄金时代。在这期间，他为孩子们写下了优美动人的童话。他的儿子后来回忆说：“(父亲)有时会趴在育婴室的地上，轮番装成狮子、 狼、马，平时的斯文形象一扫而空……玩累了时，他会让我们静静听他讲童话故事，讲冒险传说，他肚子里有讲不完的故事……”王尔德的这种童心正是他童话的源泉。王尔德在伦敦警局的一次扫黄行动中被发现有狎亵行为，还被证实是个同性恋者。他爱上俊美不羁的年轻爵士道格拉斯而遭到爵士父亲的控告。当时的英国法律不允许同性恋。于是，他被诉讼，公众对他厌恶不堪，落井下石，他的书被查封，戏剧停演，房子里的名画与青花瓷器都被贱卖，最后被判入狱。王尔德1897年经过两年监禁后出狱，化名隐居巴黎，1990年死于一家廉价的小旅馆，终年46岁，身边没有亲人。虽然王尔德对婚姻抱有非常消极的态度，对人性进行过无情的讥讽和揭露，然而他非常疼爱他的两个孩子。他的孩子们因为他的丑闻而被迫改姓。王尔德的全部财产和手稿在他入狱之后被人抢走、偷走、变买掉，是他的两个孩子及孙子帮助整理了他的全部手稿。在王尔德的墓碑上，他被誉为“才子和戏剧家”。的确，他是当之无愧的戏剧家。在他事业的顶峰，最具代表的是他的几部大戏，如《温德摩尔夫人的扇子》、《理想的丈夫》等，都是一时绝唱。说到“才子”，早在王尔德为世人所知之前，年仅二十四岁，他的诗作就荣获大奖；在他短短的创作生涯中(享年四十六岁)，行文演论，无处不是智趣横生。然而他事业的起飞，风格的形成，可以说都源于童话，也正是他的第一部童话集问世之后，人们才真正将他视为有影响的作家。英国《典雅》杂志将他和安徒生相提并论，说他的《自私的巨人》堪称“完美之作”，整本童话集更是纯正英语的结晶。他的“为艺术而艺术”的美学观点影响颇广。王尔德追求语言的表达效果。他的童话，讲述性的特点很强。看他的童话，犹如听着琅琅上口的叙述，韵律无穷。几乎所有和王尔德熟识的人在回忆他时，都会提到王尔德无以伦比的口才。看他的童话，每每让人觉得，这位生活在19世纪维多利亚时代的伟大作家，依然在和我们娓娓交谈，而我们被他的谈吐折服了、迷惑了，像所有听过他讲话的人一样。1888年5月，他的第一部童话集《快乐王子及其它》(包括《快乐王子》、《夜莺和玫瑰》、《自私的巨人》、《忠诚的朋友》和〈神奇的火箭》)出版了。这本书立刻轰动一时，书的作者也成了人们注目的中心。1891年12月，他的另一部童话集问世——《石榴之屋》，收有四部童话：《少年国王》、《小公主的生日》、《渔夫和他的灵魂》和《星孩》。这部书并未像王尔德的第一本童话那样立即受到欢迎，而是渐渐地，特别是在王尔德死后，才成为家喻户晓的故事集。这两部作品带有明显的安徒生作品的痕迹。作品流露出消极、悲观的思想。不过，它们所表现的快乐的幽默感和结构美使它们载入了英国儿童文学的史册。这两部童话集在许多方面有区别，体现了作者风格的转变。第二部童话文体更趋华丽，《圣经》体的代名词出现得更为经常。王尔德强调他的作品是以理想的而不是复写的方式来描写现实，也是对摹拟生活的当代艺术的反弹。不过有时这种“反弹”稍嫌太过，使得故事节奏变慢，失去了应有的明快生动。王尔德最著名的童话故事是《快乐王子》和《自私的巨人》。快乐王子的雕像耸立在城市上空，他看到城市的丑恶和穷苦，他的心虽然是铅的，也忍不住哭了。在小燕子的帮助下，王子把身上所有的宝石施舍给穷苦的人们，然而，他和小燕子却落得个抛尸垃圾堆的悲惨命运。《快乐王子故事集》至今依然是英国最著名的童话作品之一，多次再版。《自私的巨人》在王尔德童话中，是篇幅最短的一篇，也是最富有优美、最富诗意的一篇。机趣和戏剧性，像孪生般贯穿于他所有的童话中，也是他的童话最吸引人的地方。王尔德善于用华丽的笔法和生动的比喻造成机趣的描写风格，而他每一篇童话所贯穿的善良与美丽形象所经历的变迁——心的破裂与死亡，以及其中的对抗和冲突所产生的戏剧性的效果———紧紧扣住读者的心弦。王尔德将人性的至美归于至爱，像《快乐王子》个的王子和燕子；《夜莺与玫瑰》中的夜莺。几乎每一个童话都有一个因为至爱而变得至美的形象，体现了王尔德追求理想艺术的初衷，无愧为这位“为艺术而艺术”之始祖的佳作。一次，王尔德给儿子讲《自私的巨人》，竟然情不自禁哭了起来。儿子问他为什么哭了，王尔德说，真正美丽的事物总会使他流下眼泪。可是，有谁会想到，这位19世纪最伟大·的英国文学家，在临死的时候竟会一文不名，连房租都得由朋友代付?王尔德的一生经历了大起大伏，时而如日中天，时而一落千丈。这位不齿于摹拟、生活，追求理想艺术的文学家，却发现自己的童话《快乐王子》惊人地预写了自己的一生。无数后来的学者试图评价王尔德的功过，其中理查德·依曼的评作为：“他属于我们这个时代更多于属于维多利亚那个时代。现在，远离了那些丑闻，岁月肯定了他最优秀的著述，他安静地来到我们面前，杰出而高大，讲着寓言和哲理，欢笑而又哭泣，如此娓娓不绝，如此风趣不俗，如此确凿不移。”我国翻译王尔德作品最早是在1915年。1925年洪深曾改编他的戏剧成名作《温德米尔夫人的扇子》，以《少奶奶的扇子》为剧名，在舞台上演出。他惟一的长篇《道连·格雷的画像》以及他的戏剧选集，都有中文译本。巴金四十年代翻译过他的童话《快乐王子集》。余光中翻译过王尔德的戏剧《温夫人的扇子》、《不可儿戏》，并写了精彩的序言《一笑扇底百年风——〈温夫人的扇子〉百年纪念》、《一交绊到逻辑外——谈王尔德的〈不可儿戏〉》，这已是八九十年代的译文了。不过，在中国人对王尔德的介绍中，有一点不是语焉不详就是讳莫如深，即王尔德被判“有伤风化罪”入狱一事。关于王尔德一案，近年来才有本传记译本详加披露。作者是王尔德的同时代人和朋友弗兰克。以王尔德生平为题材的电影有三部，二十世纪六十年代曾有过两部，1997年影片《王尔德和他的情人》将王尔德的同性恋经历搬上屏幕，并详尽地剖析了王尔德奇异恋情的思想历程，同时也展示了王尔德传奇的一生。英国铸造了一尊王尔德的头像，人们永远不会忘记这位才华横溢又个性不羁的大文豪。《温德摩尔夫人的扇子》很好看：要是喜欢童话，《小公主的生日》也好！Lady Windermere's Fan， The Birthday of the Infanta

Oscar Wilde was the second son born into an Anglo-Irish family, at 21 Westland Row, Dublin, to Sir William Wilde and his wife Jane Francesca Wilde (née Elgee) (her pseudonym being Speranza). Jane was a successful writer, being a poet for the revolutionary Young Irelanders in 1848 and a life-long Irish nationalist.[1] Sir William was Ireland's leading Oto-Ophthalmologic (ear and eye) surgeon and was knighted in 1864 for his services to medicine.[1] William also wrote books on archaeology and folklore. He was a renowned philanthropist, and his dispensary for the care of the city's poor, in Lincoln Place at the rear of Trinity College, Dublin, was the forerunner of the Dublin Eye and Ear Hospital, now located at Adelaide Road. In June 1855, the family moved to 1 Merrion Square in a fashionable residential area, where Wilde's sister, Isola, was born in 1856. Here, Lady Wilde held a regular Saturday afternoon salon with guests including Sheridan le Fanu, Samuel Lever, George Petrie, Isaac Butt and Samuel Ferguson. Oscar was educated at home up to the age of nine. He attended Portora Royal School in Enniskillen, Fermanagh from the ages of nine to sixteen,[2] spending the summer months with his family in rural Waterford, Wexford and at Sir William's family home in Mayo. Here the Wilde brothers played with the older George Moore.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose." From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered. "No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched." "Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth(风信子)-- blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow." "The Prince gives a ball (舞会) to-morrow night," murmured the young student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I should hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break." "Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds (翡翠), and dearer than fine opals (蛋白石). Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold." "The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her:" and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. "Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. "Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. "Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. "He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. "For a red rose?" they cried: "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic (愤世嫉俗者), laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want." So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden (美人鱼) who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil (黄水仙) that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want." So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped (摧残) my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year." "One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?" "There is a way," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you." "Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid." "If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into me veins, and become mine." "Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot (战车) of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?" So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy (哲学), though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as homey, and his breath is like frankincense." The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books. But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches. "Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel lonely when you are gone." So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. "She had form," her said to himself, as he walked away through the grove—"that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good!" And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep. And when the moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang, with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her. She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s blood can crimson the heart of a rose. And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvelous rose became crimson (猩红), like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby (红宝石) was the heart. But the Nightingale’ voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea. "Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now;" but the Nightingale made not answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart. And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. "Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" He cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;" and he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. "You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you." But he girl frowned. "I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew had sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers." "Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose onto he street, where it fell into the gutter (阴沟), and a cartwheel went over it. "Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I dont believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;" and she got up from her chair and went into the house. "What a silly thing Love is!" said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics (玄学)." So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.王尔德 原著； 林徽因 译作 “她说我若为她采得红玫瑰，便与我跳舞。”青年学生哭着说，“但我全园里何曾有一朵红玫瑰？” 夜莺在橡树上巢中听见，从叶丛里望外看，心中诧异。 青年哭道，“我园中并没有红玫瑰！”他秀眼里满含着泪珠。“呀！幸福倒靠着这些区区小东西！古圣贤书我已读完，哲学的玄秘我已彻悟，然而因为求一朵红玫瑰不得，我的生活便这样难堪。” 夜莺叹道，“真情人竟在这里。以前我虽不曾认识，我却夜夜的歌唱他：我夜夜将他的一桩桩事告诉星辰，如今我见着他了。他的头发黑如风信子花，嘴唇红比他所切盼的玫瑰，但是挚情已使他脸色憔悴，烦恼已在他眉端引着痕迹。” 青年又低声自语：“王子今晚宴会跳舞，我的爱人也将与会。我若为她采得红玫瑰，她就和我跳舞直到天明，我若为她采得红玫瑰，我将把她抱在怀里，她的头，在我肩上枕着，她的手，在我手中握着。但我园里没有红玫瑰，我只能寂寞的坐着，看她从我跟前走过，她不理睬我，我的心将要粉碎了。” “这真是个真情人。”夜莺又说着，“我所歌唱，是他尝受的苦楚：在我是乐的，在他却是悲痛。‘爱’果然是件非常的东西。比翡翠还珍重，比玛瑙更宝贵。珍珠，榴石买不得他，黄金亦不能作他的代价，因为他不是在市上出卖，也不是商人贩卖的东西。” 青年说：“乐师们将在乐坛上弹弄丝竹，我那爱人也将按着弦琴的音节舞蹈。她舞得那么翩翩，莲步都不着地，华服的少年们就会艳羡的围着她。但她不同我跳舞，因我没有为她采到红玫瑰。”于是他我倒在草里，两手掩着脸哭泣。 绿色的小壁虎说，“他为什么哭泣？”说完就竖起尾巴从他跟前跑过。 蝴蝶正追着阳光飞舞，他亦问说，“唉，怎么？”金盏花亦向她的邻居低声探问，“唉，怎么？”夜莺说“他为着一朵红玫瑰哭泣。” 他们叫道，“为着一朵红玫瑰！真笑话！”那小壁虎本来就刻薄，于是大笑。 然而夜莺了解那青年烦恼里的秘密，她静坐在橡树枝上细想“爱”的玄妙。 忽然她张起棕色的双翼，冲天的飞去。她穿过那树林如同影子一般，如同影子一般的，她飞出了花园。 草地当中站着一株艳美的玫瑰树，她看见那树，向前飞去落在一枝枝头上。 她叫道，“给我一朵鲜红玫瑰，我为你唱我最婉转的歌。” 可是那树摇头。 “我的玫瑰是白的，”那树回答她，“白如海涛的泡沫，白过山颠上级学。请你到古日晷旁找我兄弟，或者他能应你所求。” 于是夜莺飞到日晷旁边那丛玫瑰上。 她又叫道，“给我一朵鲜红玫瑰，我为你唱最醉人的歌。” 可是那树摇头。 “我的玫瑰是黄的，”那树回答她，“黄如琥珀座上人鱼神的头发，黄过割草人未割以前的金水县。请你到那边青年窗下找我兄弟，或者他能应你所求。” 于是夜莺飞到青年窗下那丛玫瑰上。 他仍旧叫道，“给我一朵鲜红玫瑰，我为你唱最甜美的歌。” 可是那树摇头。 那树回答她道，“我的玫瑰是红的，红如白鸽的脚趾，红果海底岩下扇动的珊瑚。但是严冬已冻僵了我的血脉，寒霜已啮伤了我的萌芽，暴风已打断了我的枝干，今年我不能再开了。” 夜莺央告说，“一朵红玫瑰就够了。只要一朵红玫瑰！请问有甚法子没有？” 那树答道，“有一个法子，只有一个，但是太可怕了，我不敢告诉你。” “告诉我吧，”夜莺勇敢地说，“我不怕。” 那树说道，“你若要一朵红玫瑰，你需在月色里用音乐制成，然后用你自己的心血染她。你需将胸口顶着一根尖刺，为我歌唱。你需整夜的为我歌唱，那刺需刺入你的心头，你生命的血液得流到我的心房里变成我的。” 夜莺叹道，“那死来买一朵红玫瑰，代价真不小，谁的生命不是宝贵的，坐在青郁的森林里，看太阳在黄金车里，月亮在白珠辇内驰骋，真是一桩乐事。山楂化的味儿真香，山谷里的吊钟花和山坡上野草真美。然而‘爱’比生命更可贵，一个鸟的心又怎能和人的心比？” 忽然她张起棕色的双翼，冲天的飞去。她穿过那花园如同影子一般，她荡出了那树林子。 那青年仍旧僵卧在草地上方才她离去的地方，他那付秀眼里的泪珠还没有干。 夜莺喊道，“高兴吧，快乐八；你将要采到你那朵红玫瑰了。我将用月下的歌音制成她。我向你所求的报酬，仅是要你做一个真挚的情人，因为哲理虽智，爱比她更慧，权力虽雄，爱比她更伟。焰光的色彩是爱的双翅，烈火的颜色是爱的躯干。她又如蜜的口唇，若兰的吐气。” 青年从草里抬头侧耳静听，但是他不懂夜莺对他所说的话，因他只晓得书上所讲的一切。 那橡树却是懂得，他觉得悲伤，因为他极爱怜那枝上结巢的小夜莺。 他轻声说道：“唱一首最后的歌给我听罢，你离去后，我要感到无限的寂寥了。” 于是夜莺为橡树歌唱，她恋别的音调就像在银瓶里涌溢的水浪一般的清越。 她唱罢时，那青年站起身来从衣袋里抽出一本日记薄和一支笔。 他一面走出那树林，一面自语道：“那夜莺的确有些姿态。这是人所不能否认的；但是她有感情么？我怕没有。实在她就像许多美术家一般，尽是仪式，没有诚心。她必不肯为人牺牲。她所想的无非是音乐，可是谁不知道艺术是为己的。虽然，我们总须承认她有醉人的歌喉。可惜那种歌音也是无意义，毫无实用。”于是他回到自己室中，躺在他的小草垫的床上想念他的爱人；过了片时他就睡去。待月娘升到天空，放出她的光艳时，那夜莺也就来到玫瑰枝边，将胸口插在刺上。她胸前插着尖刺，整夜的歌唱，那晶莹的月亮倚在云边静听。她整夜的，啭着歌喉，那刺越插越深，她生命的血液渐渐溢去。 最先她歌颂的是稚男幼女心胸里爱恋的诞生。于是那玫瑰的顶尖枝上结了一苞卓绝的玫瑰蕾，歌儿一首连着一首的唱，花瓣一片跟着一片得开。起先那瓣儿是黯淡的如同河上罩着的薄雾---黯淡的如同晨曦的交际，银灰的好似曙光的翅翼，那枝上玫瑰蕾就像映在银镜里的玫瑰影子或是照在池塘的玫瑰化身。 但是那树还催迫着夜莺紧插那枝刺。“靠紧那刺，小夜莺。”那树连声的叫唤，“不然，玫瑰还没开成，晓光就要闯来了。” 于是夜莺越紧插入那尖刺，越扬声的唱她的歌，因她这回所歌颂的是男子与女子性灵里烈情的诞生。 如今那玫瑰瓣上生了一层娇嫩的红晕，如同初吻新娘时新郎的绛颊。但是那刺还未插到夜莺的心房，所以那花心尚留着白色，因为只有夜莺的心血可以染成玫瑰花心。 那树复催迫着夜莺紧插那枝刺，“靠紧那刺，小夜莺，”那树连声的叫唤，“不然，玫瑰还没开成，晓光就要闯来了。” 于是夜莺紧紧插入那枝刺，那刺居然插入了她的心，但是一种奇痛穿过她的全身，那种惨痛愈猛，愈烈，她的歌声越狂，越壮，因为她这回歌颂的是因死而完成的挚爱和冢中不朽的爱情。 那卓绝的玫瑰于是变作鲜红，如同东方的天色。花的外瓣红同烈火，花的内心赤如绛玉。 夜莺的声音越唱越模糊了，她的双翅拍动起来，她的眼上起了一层薄膜。她的歌声模糊了，她觉得喉间哽咽了。 于是她放出末次的歌声，白色的残月听见，忘记天晓，挂在空中停着。那玫瑰听见，凝神战栗着，在清冷的晓风里瓣瓣的开放。回音将歌声领入山坡上的紫洞，将牧童从梦里惊醒。歌声流到河边苇丛中，苇叶将这信息传与大海。 那树叫道，“看，这玫瑰已制成了。”然而夜莺并不回答，她已躺在乱草里死去，那刺还插在心头。 日午时青年开窗望外看。 他叫道，“怪事，真是难遇的幸运，这儿有朵红玫瑰，这样好玫瑰，我生来从没有见过。它这样美红定有很繁长的拉丁名字”；说着便俯身下去折了这花。 于是他戴上帽子，跑往教授家去，手里拈着红玫瑰。 教授的女儿正坐在门前卷一轴蓝色绸子，她的小狗伏在她脚前。 青年叫道，“你说过我若为你采得红玫瑰，你便同我跳舞。这里有一朵全世界最珍贵的红玫瑰。你可以将她插在你的胸前，我们同舞的时候，这花便能告诉你，我怎样的爱你。” 那女郎只皱着眉头。 她答说，“我怕这花不能配上我的衣裳；而且大臣的侄子送我许多珠宝首饰，人人都知道珠宝比花草贵重。” 青年怒道，“我敢说你是个无情义的人。”她便将玫瑰掷在街心，掉在车辙里，让一个车轮轧过。 女郎说，“无情义？我告诉你吧，你实在无礼；况且到底你是谁？不过一个学生文人，我看像大臣侄子鞋上的那银扣，你都没有。”说着站起身来走回房去。 青年走着自语道，“爱好傻呀，远不如伦理学那般有实用，它所告诉我们的，无非是空中楼阁，实际上不会发生的，和缥缈的虚无不可信的事件。在现在的世界里存在，首要有实用的东西，我还是回到我的哲学和玄学书上去吧。” 于是他回到房中取出一本笨重的，满堆着尘土的大书埋头细读。

After being married for 11 years, Wilde had left his wife and began having a homosexual affair with Alfred Douglas. In May 1895, Wilde was prosecuted and imprisoned for homosexuality under the terms of the Criminal Law Amendment Act. He served two years in Old Bailey in London. Regrettable, his mother died while he was still in jail.