| 英譯： |
Cast into Life—without an object born—
Oh, Willow Catkins by Time's eddies torn—
Ah! what fond Tree has cast you on the air
To fly with Spring into my Yard forlorn?
At morn your carpet hides the flagstones bare
Your sunlit gliding shadows wake no care.
The butterflies are shrouded in your clouds,
As well as those ascending Heaven's stair.
The River bears you to the Ocean's breast.
Or clogging Rain amid the dust has pressed.
Oh, when the day of Love and Joy be come.
May You as lightly on my bosom rest!
|