（6）
倘若 我能令一颗心免于破碎
那么 我也不算白活
倘若 我能抚平一条生命之伤痕
或是缓解一种疼痛
或是帮一只奄奄一息的小鸟
回到他的巢穴之中
——那么，我也不算白活。
VI.
IF I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
IF I can ease one life the aching
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
（7）触手可及
触手可及！
我本触手可及
——也许我应该走那一条路
悠悠地游荡过那个村庄
再悠悠地离去
——那未曾奢望的紫罗兰
就在村中低低的田野里睡着
只是，如今追寻已然太迟
一小时前，我已与那馥郁擦肩而过
VII. ALMOST
WITHIN my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected violets
Within the filed lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.
（8）
“受伤的鹿跳得最高，”
——我听猎人如是说；
然而这只是临死前最后的狂欢，
而后陷入漫长的沉默。
那迸溅的，是受了重击的岩石，
那飞跃的，是遭了践踏的兵器；
脸总会更加潮红
——当你受到病魔的袭击
欢笑乃是苦痛的铠甲，
将它严密地守护，
以免叫人窥见你的鲜血，
发出“你受伤了”的惊呼！
VIII.
A WOUNDED deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And thenthe brake is st lol.
The smitten rock that gushes，
The trampled steel that springs;
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!
Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautions arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood,
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
（9）
最初的时候，心向往快乐，
而后希望免于痛苦；
然后渴求些许止痛剂
来缓解那生命的苦楚；
而后，只愿去睡一觉，
倘若真的得以睡着——
便奢望那审判者愿意
赐予它去死的自由。
IX.
THE heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodines
That d eaten suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its I nquisitor,
The liberty to die.
（10）图书馆间
遇见一本上了年纪的书
是一种日渐消失的珍贵的快乐，
那书 躺在他穿了百年的衣服里，
我想，这是我的人可能荣幸吧。
牵起他那庄严的手，
令它温暖于我的手中，
往后翻一篇，两篇，
直至回到他年轻的时候。
他古雅的见解正待我审核
他深藏的学识正待我开启
那在我们彼此心中萦怀的
是古老的文学典籍
什么事儿学者最关心？
那些比赛如何进行？
——那时柏拉图的命运已成定局
而索福克勒斯尚在人世。
那时莎孚还是明丽的姑娘
而比阿丽特斯 正穿着
但丁顶礼膜拜的长裙
而这，已是数百年前的事情
他娴熟地穿越时空
如一个人拜访这个小镇
而后告诉你 梦曾皆真
他住的地方 见证梦的诞生
他的来访充满魔力，
你祈求他不要离去；
老书卷摇了摇他羊皮纸的头，
若即若离，仅此而已。
X. IN A LIBRARY
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,
His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.
His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;
What interested scholars most,
What competition ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;
When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,
He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.
His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.
