每天都有蟾蜍，每晚都有恶龙。Der heilige Hieronymus——他的狮子在动物园里——倾听着，倾听着。漫长而柔和的夏日梦惊吓着他的床，深渊像锅一样沸腾。太阳落山时，最后一个病人站起来，对他说，父亲，颤抖着，转过身去。圣人常常对狮子说:孩子。圣人对那个人说——但是那个人已经走了。在格拉迪瓦的牌匾下，黄昏时分。老人煮了一个鸡蛋。吃完饭，他听了一会儿。病人并没有停止。午夜时分，他躺在病人躺着的地方。 All night the old man whispers to the night. It listens evenly. The great armored paws Of its forelegs put together in reflection. It thinks: Where Ego was, there Id shall be. The world wrestles with it and is changed into it And after a long time changes it. The dragon Listens as the old man says, at dawn: I see --There is an old man, naked in a desert, by a cliff. He has set out his books, his hat, his ink, his shears Among scorpions, toads, the wild beasts of the desert. I lie beside him--I am a lion. He kneels listening. He holds in his left hand The stone with which he beats his breat, and holds In his right hand, the pen with which he puts Into his book, the words of the angel: The angel up into whose face he looks. But the angel does not speak. He looks into the face Of the night, and the night says--but the night is gone. He has slept. . . . At morning, when man's flesh is young And man's soul thankful for it knows not what, The air is washed, and smells of boiling coffee, And the sun lights it. The old man walks placidly To the grocer's; walks on, under leaves, in light, To a lynx, a leopard--he has come; The man holds out a lump of liver to the lion, And the lion licks the man's hand with his tongue.