新浪博客
他也有面目全非的苍白冬天
除非他走在自然的死亡之前
The Human Seasons
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year
There are four seasons in the mind of man
He has his lusty Spring
Takes in all beauty with an easy span
He has his Summer
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate
Is nearest unto heaven
His soul has in its autumn when his wings
He furleth close
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature
Or else he would forego his mortal nature
除非他走在自然的死亡之前
The Human Seasons
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year
There are four seasons in the mind of man
He has his lusty Spring
Takes in all beauty with an easy span
He has his Summer
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate
Is nearest unto heaven
His soul has in its autumn when his wings
He furleth close
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature
Or else he would forego his mortal nature