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 –