把我推到阳光里，把我推到阴影里，梧梧树上一定有树叶，草地上是否有加冕的国王?把我推到草地上，推到小河上，无论在阳光下还是在阴影下，我都不会眼花缭乱，也不会颤抖，无论在哪里，我都会快乐，每一口清晨的空气都让我悸动和颤抖。无论你愿意呆在哪里，在山边或山下，或在小河边:你愿意呆多久就呆多久，只要给我树上的一个花蕾，或是晨露中的一片草叶，或是一片蔚蓝的云紫，我都可以永远注视着它。轮子，轮子穿过阳光，轮子，轮子穿过阴影;松树周围一定有气味，一定有奶牛呼吸的芳香。在草地下面的某个地方。我必须选择吗?然后把我锚定在那儿，在那招手的白杨树那边，落叶松把她那花一般的头发用晨影的花环罩着。在密密麻麻的榛树丛中，也许有一只夜莺摇着它的羽毛，空气中充满了歌声;在那些古老的日子里，当我年轻强壮的时候，他常常在那边花园的树上唱歌，在苗圃旁边。 Ah. I remember how I loved to wake, And find him singing on the self-same bough (I know it even now) Where, since the flit of bat, In ceaseless voice he sat, Trying the spring night over, like a tune, Beneath the vernal moon; And while I listed long, Day rose, and still he sang, And all his stanchless song, As something falling unaware, Fell out of the tall trees he sang among, Fell ringing down the ringing morn, and rang- Rang like a golden jewel down a golden stair. Is it too early? I hope not. But wheel me to the ancient oak, On this side of the meadow; Let me hear the raven's croak Loosened to an amorous note In the hollow shadow. Let me see the winter snake Thawing all his frozen rings On the bank where the wren sings. Let me hear the little bell, Where the red-wing, top-mast high, Looks toward the northern sky, And jangles his farewell. Let us rest by the ancient oak, And see his net of shadow, His net of barren shadow, Like those wrestlers' nets of old, Hold the winter dead and cold, Hoary winter, white and cold, While all is green in the meadow. And when you've rested, brother mine, Take me over the meadow; Take me along the level crown Of the bare and silent down, And stop by the ruined tower. On its green scarp, by and by, I shall smell the flowering thyme, On its wall the wall-flower. In the tower there used to be A solitary tree. Take me there, for the dear sake Of those old days wherein I loved to lie And pull the melilote, And look across the valley to the sky, And hear the joy that filled the warm wide hour Bubble from the thrush's throat, As into a shining mere Rills some rillet trebling clear, And speaks the silent silver of the lake. There mid cloistering tree-roots, year by year, The hen-thrush sat, and he, her lief and dear, Among the boughs did make A ceaseless music of her married time, And all the ancient stones grew sweet to hear, And answered him in the unspoken rhyme Of gracious forms most musical That tremble on the wall And trim its age with airy fantasies That flicker in the sun, and hardly seem As if to be beheld were all, And only to our eyes They rise and all, And fall and rise, Sink down like silence, or a-sudden stream As wind-blown on the wind as streams a wedding-chime. But you are wheeling me while I dream, And we've almost reached the meadow! You may wheel me fast thro' the sunshine, You may wheel me fast thro' the shadow, But wheel me slowly, brother mine, Thro' the green of the sappy meadow; For the sun, these days have been so fine, Must have touched it over with celandine, And the southern hawthorn, I divine, Sheds a muffled shadow. There blows The first primrose, Under the bare bank roses: There is but one, And the bank is brown, But soon the children will come down, The ringing children come singing down, To pick their Easter posies, And they'll spy it out, my beautiful, Among the bare brier-roses; And when I sit here again alone, The bare brown bank will be blind and dull, Alas for Easter posies! But when the din is over and gone, Like an eye that opens after pain, I shall see my pale flower shining again; Like a fair star after a gust of rain I shall see my pale flower shining again; Like a glow-worm after the rolling wain Hath shaken darkness down the lane I shall see my pale flower shining again; And it will blow here for two months more, And it will blow here again next year, And the year past that,