一个夏末，我们坐在一起，那个美丽温柔的女人，你的密友，你和我，谈论着诗歌。我说，‘排成一行可能要花我们几个小时;然而，如果这不是片刻的思考，我们的缝补和拆解都是徒劳的。不管什么天气，你还不如跪下来，像个老乞丐一样擦洗厨房的铺路，或者砸碎石头;因为一起发出甜美的声音比所有这些都要辛苦，然而，在那些被殉道者称为世界的银行家、教师和牧师们的嘈杂声中，他却认为他是个懒汉。”于是，那个美丽温柔的女人，许多人都为了她而感到心痛，当发现她的声音甜美而低沉时，回答说:“生为女人就应该知道——虽然学校里不讲——我们必须努力使自己变得美丽。”我说:“自亚当堕落以来，没有一件美好的事物不需要辛勤的劳动。曾经有过这样的恋人，他们认为爱情中应该掺杂着高度的礼貌，他们叹息着，带着博学的神情，从美丽的旧书中引用先例;但现在看来，这似乎是一种闲散的交易。”我们因爱的名义而安静地坐着; We saw the last embers of daylight die, And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon, worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful, and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love; That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.