作者：狄蘭-托馬斯（英）

不在痛苦中而在遺忘中,

更絕非懷著喜悅的心情?

大聲呼喊著春天

越過(guò)那古老的冬天,

他躺下歇歇,我們的呼吸

必將冷卻他那圓鼓鼓的臉頰,

并讓他寬闊的嘴回了家。

我們必須低聲走下狹窄的小道

我們擁有的愛(ài)和他血液中的榮耀

沿著管道流淌

直到從土壤里

涌出的噴口干涸

帶著同樣精準(zhǔn)的力越過(guò)所有的季節(jié),

而脈管一定會(huì)衰退。

他對(duì)墓穴尚未有所警覺(jué)

盡管我們輕視狹小的空間

點(diǎn)滴想法分割成如此可怕的瞬間

有如反復(fù)溺斃這場(chǎng)熱病。

他死了,回家了,沒(méi)有任何戀人,

而在內(nèi)心,或空空的通道,

我們也沒(méi)有更多的話要說(shuō)。

我們消融的不幸,呼吸到它時(shí),

我們的墮落,空空如也,

不會(huì)傷害到他四周的帷幕,

不會(huì)被吞吃、被刺入

被我們的罪或歡樂(lè)所傷。

而誰(shuí)會(huì)告訴這群好色之徒

遺忘何等無(wú)情。

It's not in misery but in oblivion,

Not vertically in a mood of joy

Screaming the spring

Over the ancient winter,

He'll lie down, and our breath

Will chill the roundness of his cheeks,

And make his wide mouth home.

For we must whisper down the funnel

The love we had and glory in his blood

Coursing long the channels

Until the spout dried up

That flowed out of the soil

All seasons with the same meticulous power,

But the veins must fail.

He's not awake to the grave

Though we cry down the funnel,

Splitting a thought into?

such hideous moments

As drown, over and over, this fever.

He's dead, home, has no lover,

But our speaking does not thrive

In the bosom, or the empty channels.

Our evil, when we breathe it,

Of dissolution and the empty fall,

Won't harm the tent around him,

Uneaten and not to be pierced

By us in sin or us in gaiety.

And who shall tell the amorist

Oblivion is so loverless.