| 英譯： |
IN a far-off fragrant garden
Grows a tree of beauty rare,
Whose reflection on the brooklet
Makes a vision fair.
But when now I see this vision,
Heart and mind are wrung with grief,
$(Mourning hours of blissful meeting—
Every hour too brief.)$
Rich as ever is the foliage,
Opal clouds the shimmering boughs,
And the dewy leaves still glisten
While the sun allows.
$(But, alas, Her presence lacking,)$
$(What are all such things to me!)$
$(She will never more be plucking)$
$(Blossoms from this tree.)$
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Here beside the brook are traces
Of her light and gladsome feet;
$(But again we two shall never)$
$(In this garden meet.)$
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