我的脖子被串珠遮住了，
在暖手筒里，手不冷，
心不在焉的眼睛看着眼睑之下--
它们永远抹不去年龄。
分外苍白的似乎是我悲伤的脸
在耀眼的丁香紫的丝绸映衬之下，
两眉几乎被长刘海包住了，
不卷曲的，还醒目的长刘海。
这非常慢，谨慎的步态
和天堂里的飞行不一样--
似乎地板是用古怪的筏木制造的，
而且是四方形的实木。
我的嘴微微张开，
呼吸快得好似发高烧，
悲叹如花的岁月--我的心中--
那个日子再也不会来了。
My neck is shaded by the beads,
In the wide muff, hands void of cold,
Absent eyes look under eyelids –
They’ll never weep over the old.
Else paler seems my saddened face
Above the silk of lilac glaring,
Eyebrows can almost be embraced
By the long fringe, uncurled and daring.
And this so slow, cautious gait
Isn’t similar the flight in heavens –
As if the floor were oddly made
With the raft’s logs, but parquet squares.
My lips are opened a bit,
And breath is fast as if in fever,
And mourn the flowers – my breast mid –
The date that didn’t happen ever.
