Sorry, I listened to a foreign poem and forgot what it was. What do you think is the most beautiful poem abroad?

The nightingale sang that my heart was hurting, and my drowsiness and numbness pierced my senses. It was like drinking poisonous pigeons or just swallowing opium, so I sank to Leeds. It's not that I'm jealous of your good luck, but that your happiness makes me so happy-because in the bright world of the forest, you, the light-winged fairy, hid in the lush green and shadow of beeches and let go of your voice. Hey, if there's a sip of wine! The mellow drinks that have been refrigerated underground for many years remind people of green fields, flower gods, love songs, sunshine and dancing! If there is a bright red cup full of southern warmth, the pearl foam will go out along the edge of the cup and the lips will be stained with purple spots; Oh, I want to drink it all at once and disappear with you in the dark forest: far away, far away, let me forget everything you didn't know among the leaves, forget this tired, feverish and anxious world, which makes people lament; Here, youth is pale, haggard and dead, while "paralysis" has a few white hairs swaying; Here, a little thinking is full of sadness and gray despair, but "beauty" can't keep the brilliance of bright eyes, and new love will wither before tomorrow. Let's go Let's go I want to fly to you instead of sitting in a leopard's car with Dionysus. I want to spread my invisible wings at the end of the poem, although my mind is tired and tired; Let's go Oh, I went with you! The night is so gentle, she is guarded by a group of stars on the throne after the month; But it's not very bright here, except for a ray of sky light carried by the breeze, lush darkness and moss winding paths. I can't see what flowers are at my feet and what incense is hanging on the branches; In the warm darkness, I can only guess that this fruit tree, Lin Mang, and grass, this bitter orange blossom, and the roses in the field, the violets that are easy to thank in the green leaves, and the pampering in mid-May, which is full of musk roses and dew, have become a harbor where mosquitoes wander in summer nights. I listened in the dark: oh, how many times I almost fell in love with quiet death, I exhausted the good words in poetry and begged him to disperse my breath into the air; And now, oh, how rich death is: the soul dies in the middle of the night, when you are pouring out your heart and giving out such ecstasy! You can still sing, but I can't hear it anymore-your corona can only sing to the mud and grass. Fairy bird, you won't die! Hungry generations can't trample on you; Tonight, the songs I overheard once delighted the ancient emperors and villagers. Perhaps the same song once stirred Ruth's melancholy heart and made her cry, standing in a foreign grain field and missing her hometown; It is this sound that often stirs the window sash of the lost fairy land: a beautiful woman looks at the sinister waves of the sea. Oh, I lost it! This sentence is like a bell, waking me up to where I am standing! Farewell! Fantasy, such a deceptive demon boy, can't always play tricks on it. Farewell! Farewell! Your complaining song flows through the lawn, through the quiet stream and up the hillside; At this time, it is buried in a nearby valley: hey, is this an illusion or a dream? The song has gone:-Am I sleeping? Is it awake? [2] Another version of the translation: My heart is aching, sleepy and numb. It's like drinking poisonous pigeons, or just swallowing opium and sinking into Leeds. It's not that I am jealous of your good luck, but that your happiness makes me too happy-and you are a light-winged fairy in the forest, filling the shade of beech with melodious music, opening your voice and singing summer. Hey, if there's a sip of wine! The mellow drinks that have been refrigerated underground for many years remind people of green fields, flower gods, love songs, sunshine and dancing! If there is a bright red cup full of southern warmth, the pearl foam will go out along the edge of the cup and the lips will be stained with purple spots; I want to drink and leave this world and disappear with you in the dark forest: far away, far away, let me forget everything you didn't know among the leaves, forget this tired, feverish and anxious world, which makes people lament the restless world; I can't move, only a few strands of silver hair are trembling here, and my youth is pale, haggard and dead. Here, after a little thinking, I am full of sadness and gray despair. Beauty can't keep the brilliance of bright eyes, and the new love will wither before tomorrow. Let's go Let's go I will fly to you, no longer walking with Dionysus and his companions, and I will spread the invisible wings of poetry, although my mind is tired and tired; I'll go with you! After such a gentle night, she ascended the throne, surrounded by her star maids; But it's not very bright here, except for a ray of sky light carried by the breeze, lush darkness and moss winding paths. I can't see what flowers are at my feet and what incense is hanging on the branches; In the warm darkness, I can only guess that this fruit tree, Lin Mang, and grass, this bitter orange blossom and rose in the field, this easy-to-thank violet in the green leaves, and the pampering in mid-May, this dewy musk rose has become a harbor infested by gnats in summer night, and how to give it fragrance. How many times have I heard it in the dark? I almost fell in love with a quiet death. I called his name with thoughtful rhyme and begged him to disperse my breath into the air; Now, how rich death is: you die in the middle of the night, and when you pour out your heart, you exude such ecstasy! You will still sing, but I will never hear it again-your corolla can only sing to the grave. Fairy bird, you won't die! Hungry generations can't trample on you; Tonight, I happened to hear songs that ancient emperors and villagers also heard; Perhaps the same song once stirred Ruth's melancholy heart and made her cry, standing in a foreign grain field and suffering from homesickness; It is this sound that often triggers the window sash in the lost fairy land: it blooms on the rough waves and is lost again! This sentence is like a bell pulling me back from you to this bleak self! Farewell! Imagine this deceitful devil boy. You can't always play tricks on him. Farewell! Farewell! Your complaining song flows through the lawn, through the quiet stream and up the hillside; At this time, it is buried in a nearby valley: is it an illusion or a dream? That song is gone. Should I sleep or wake up?