Is like a garden full of weeds,
And when the weeds begin to grow,
It’s like a garden full of snow.
And when the snow begins to fall,
It’s like a bird upon the wall,
And when the bird away does fly,
It’s like an eagle in the sky.
And when the sky begins to roar,
It’s like a lion at the door.
And when the door begins to crack,
It’s like a stick across your back,
And when your back begins to smart,
it’s like a penknife in your heart.
And when your heart begins to bleed,
You’re dead,
You’re dead,
You’re dead indeed.
O Me! O Life! 啊，我！啊，生命！
O ME! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
Alone 孤独
From childhood`s hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring –
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow – I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone –
And all I lov`d – I lov`d alone –
Then – in my childhood – in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From ev`ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still –
From the torrent, or the fountain –
From the red cliff of the mountain –
From the sun that `round me roll`d
In its autumn tint of gold –
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass`d me flying by –
From the thunder, and the storm –
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view –
