我的长双尖梯子仍然插在树上，朝向天堂。旁边还有一个木桶，我没有装满，树枝上可能还有两三个苹果，我没有摘。但我现在已经不摘苹果了。冬夜睡眠的精华，是苹果的香味;我在打瞌睡。今天早晨，我从水槽里舀起一块玻璃，把它托在白草的世界上，透过这片玻璃，我的视线里闪着微光。它融化了，我让它掉下来摔碎了。但在它落下来之前，我已经很好地睡着了，我能说出我的梦将会是什么样子。放大的苹果出现了又出现，茎端和花端，每一个赤褐色的斑点都清晰可见。我的脚背弓不仅保持了疼痛，还保持了梯子旋转的压力。 And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin That rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking; I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall, For all That struck the earth, No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble, Went surely to the cider-apple heap As of no worth. One can see what will trouble This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. Were he not gone, The woodchuck could say whether it's like his Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, Or just some human sleep.