如果我能把我的树林编成歌，说出那里的美景，所有的人都会涌向我的花园，而让城市空虚。在我的土地上没有郁金香，取而代之的是爱雪的松树和橡树;野蛮的枫树从春天的淡红到秋天的红。我的花园是森林的边缘，古老的森林包围着它;湖岸倾斜到碧蓝的湖岸，然后倾入深邃的深渊。洪水曾经在这里翻耕，把梯田一个接一个地打下来;它们在阳光下变白变干。播种者匆匆离去，——风和播种者的鸟儿;不是为了名利，也不是为了艺术规则，我种下这些树，任风雨飘摇。冲刷我园边的水，不戏耍大自然的律网，不理会月潮和日潮，——五年从涨潮到退潮。 Hither hasted, in old time, Jove, And every god,--none did refuse; And be sure at last came Love, And after Love, the Muse. Keen ears can catch a syllable, As if one spake to another, In the hemlocks tall, untamable, And what the whispering grasses smother. Æolian harps in the pine Ring with the song of the Fates; Infant Bacchus in the vine,-- Far distant yet his chorus waits. Canst thou copy in verse one chime Of the wood-bell's peal and cry, Write in a book the morning's prime, Or match with words that tender sky? Wonderful verse of the gods, Of one import, of varied tone; They chant the bliss of their abodes To man imprisoned in his own. Ever the words of the gods resound; But the porches of man's ear Seldom in this low life's round Are unsealed, that he may hear. Wandering voices in the air And murmurs in the wold Speak what I cannot declare, Yet cannot all withhold. When the shadow fell on the lake, The whirlwind in ripples wrote Air-bells of fortune that shine and break, And omens above thought. But the meanings cleave to the lake, Cannot be carried in book or urn; Go thy ways now, come later back, On waves and hedges still they burn. These the fates of men forecast, Of better men than live to-day; If who can read them comes at last He will spell in the sculpture,'Stay.'