因为我满足于这些贫瘠的田地，低低的开阔的草地，细长而缓慢的溪流，并在别人蔑视的鬼地方找到了家，有偏见的木神多付了我的爱，给了我他们国家的自由，并在他们秘密的参议院中战胜了统治我们生活的亲爱的危险领主，使月亮和行星成为他们的伙伴，通过我孤独的习惯，怜悯地射下百万束思想和温柔的光芒。对我来说，在阵雨中，在连绵的阵雨中，春天来到山谷:——拨开乌云，我沐浴在早晨柔和的银色空气中，我愿意在你潺潺的溪水旁漫步。远处的麻雀，近处的鸟儿，一身蓝衣，在前面飞过，从这棵树飞到那棵树，勇敢地唱出优美的序曲，领着这一年迟延的音乐会。五月的太阳继续向前，越来越近了，四周的植物都甜蜜地举行了婚礼;夏天的美又汹涌而来;山谷和峭壁，山谷和湖泊，山坡和松木拱廊，都被天才所触动。那边破烂的悬崖，千小时千面。友好的地主，不善言辞的人，住在这里，统治着宽敞的农场。旅行者!对你来说，也许是一条乏味的路，或者是一幅很快就被遗忘的画;对这些人来说，风景是一个充满力量的军械库，他们知道如何一个一个地汲取和使用。 They harness, beast, bird, insect, to their work; They prove the virtues of each bed of rock, And, like a chemist 'mid his loaded jars, Draw from each stratum its adapted use, To drug their crops, or weapon their arts withal. They turn the frost upon their chemic heap; They set the wind to winnow vetch and grain; They thank the spring-flood for its fertile slime; And, on cheap summit-levels of the snow, Slide with the sledge to inaccessible woods, O'er meadows bottomless. So, year by year, They fight the elements with elements, (That one would say, meadow and forest walked Upright in human shape to rule their like.) And by the order in the field disclose, The order regnant in the yeoman's brain. What these strong masters wrote at large in miles, I followed in small copy in my acre: For there's no rood has not a star above it; The cordial quality of pear or plum Ascends as gladly in a single tree, As in broad orchards resonant with bees; And every atom poises for itself, And for the whole. The gentle Mother of all Showed me the lore of colors and of sounds; The innumerable tenements of beauty; The miracle of generative force; Far-reaching concords of astronomy Felt in the plants and in the punctual birds; Mainly, the linked purpose of the whole; And, chiefest prize, found I true liberty, The home of homes plain-dealing Nature gave. The polite found me impolite; the great Would mortify me, but in vain: I am a willow of the wilderness, Loving the wind that bent me. All my hurts My garden-spade can heal. A woodland walk, A wild rose, or rock-loving columbine, Salve my worst wounds, and leave no cicatrice. For thus the wood-gods murmured in my ear, Dost love our manners? Canst thou silent lie? Canst thou, thy pride forgot, like nature pass Into the winter night's extinguished mood? Canst thou shine now, then darkle, And being latent, feel thyself no less? As when the all-worshipped moon attracts the eye, The river, hill, stems, foliage, are obscure, Yet envies none, none are unenviable.