对那些怀着对自然的爱与她的有形形体息息相通的人，她说着各种各样的语言;在他快乐的时候，她有快乐的声音，微笑和美丽的口才;她带着一种温和而治愈的同情，溜进他内心深处的沉思，在他意识到之前，偷走了他内心的尖锐。当对最后的痛苦时刻的思念像枯萎病一样笼罩着你的精神，以及严峻的痛苦、裹尸布、裹尸布、透不过气的黑暗和狭窄的房屋的凄凉景象，使你战栗，心生恶心;——走出去，在开阔的天空下，聆听大自然的教诲，这时，从四面八方——大地及其水域和空气的深处——传来一个寂静的声音。再过几天，你，那注视万物的太阳，将不再看见他的轨迹;你的形象也不会出现在冰冷的土地上，你苍白的身躯曾被许多泪水埋葬，也不会出现在海洋的怀抱里。滋养过你的大地，将要求你的成长，重新归于大地，你将失去每一个人的痕迹，放弃你的个体，你将永远与自然混合，成为麻木的岩石和呆滞的泥土的兄弟，那是粗野的奴才和他的同伴一起转动和践踏的。橡树的根要伸出来，刺穿你的模子。然而，你不能独自隐居到你永恒的安息地，你也不希望有更华丽的沙发。你将与新生世界的先祖——君王，世上的权贵——智慧的、善良的、美丽的形体，以及历代的白发苍苍的先知，一同长眠在一座雄伟的坟墓里。 The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, -- the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods -- rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. -- Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings -- yet the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep -- the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest -- and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glides away, the sons of men-- The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man-- Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn, shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.