十一月的日出--安妮.波特

纯金色的天空上大雁成群鸣叫着，
灿烂如从前画家
为某位小隐士铺展开的背景
在他的洞穴旁边，赠送出他的斗篷，
给了在她期待的架子上
伸展的某位殉道者。
附近长着几株黑色的雪松
有一只吃青草的驴子。

小匠人，毫无特色的习以成性像蜜蜂一样，
把他们木质的窗格镀上金色，让声誉听天由命，
就像水淹过两翼的金色天空的创造者，
他宽恕我们所有的无知
他的天性和他的名声两者，
慷慨接受我们不留心的一瞥。
Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there’s a donkey grazing.

Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance.
"A November Sunrise" by Anne Porter, from Living Things. © Steerforth Press, 2006