亲爱的鬼魂，亲爱的存在，啊，我亲爱的父母，你们为什么如此悲伤地站在门廊上窃窃私语?多么大的忧郁在我们的秋千间散去啊!就像在暴风雨来临之前，人们听到树叶的沙沙声，并记下了大气中的每一个细微变化，那时候，人们听到并害怕。但当时万事都是神谕和奥秘的。还记得那天晚上，我们迷路了，又回来了，我们迷迷糊糊地回头，我们的前灯只照到了狐狸吗?我们的思绪随之而去，带着同样的恐惧，转了又转，进入公路旁的茂密的灌木丛，回到黑暗的灌木丛中的家。我说，里面的木头是黑暗的木头，或者伤口，撕破的衬衫无法完全包扎，但悲伤的手秘密地回到它那里，一再鼓励绷带讲述我们可能拥有的另一个世界，在它诞生之前被埋葬的失落的世界。伯奇菲尔德描写了在一个废弃的老矿口，被掐白的紫罗兰的灵魂冒着泡沫，就像一个邪恶的八月的夜晚降临，所有的数字，只有一个暗红色的污点。这是天空中一种奇特的忧伤吗?另一边也许是一些罕见的快乐。 5 What is it to be happy, after all? Think Of the first small joys. Think of how our parents Would whistle as they packed for the long summers, Or, busy about the usual tasks of parents, Smile down at us suddenly for some secret reason, Or simply smile, not needing any reason. 6 But even in the summers we remember The forest had its eyes, the sea its voices, And there were roads no map would ever master, Lost roads and moonless nights and ancient voices? And night crept down with an awful slowness toward the water; And there were lanterns once, doubled in the water. 7 Sadness has its own beauty, of course. Toward dusk, Let us say, the river darkens and look bruised, And we stand looking out at it through rain. It is as if life itself were somehow bruised And tender at this hour; and a few tears commence. Not that they are but that they feel immense.