从一面光束到另一面光束，翅膀浸穿于

From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through

夕阳构建的几何形状和兰花形图案，

Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds,

自山峰黑色的角状阴影，乘着

Out of the peak’s black angularity of shadow, riding

松林和咆哮的峡谷之上

The last tumultuous avalanche of

最后激烈的光之雪崩，

Light above pines and the guttural gorge,

鹰，来了。 

The hawk comes.

他的翅膀

His wing

之镰，又割下了一日，他的身姿

Scythes down another day, his motion

是那磨利的钢刃，我们听到

Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear

时间之茎无声地断落。 

The crashless fall of stalks of Time.

每一根茎端都沉重，载着我们罪孽的黄金。

The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error.

看，看吧！他攀上那最后的光芒，

不解时代也不知罪过，而在他

Look! Look! he is climbing the last light

眼睛下面，那不可宽恕、也未被宽恕的世界，摇晃

Who knows neither Time nor error, and under

成为阴影。 

Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings

Into shadow.

现在，

那最后的画眉鸟长久地寂静，最后的蝙蝠

Long now,

巡弋于他尖锐的象形文字。他的智慧

The last thrush is still, the last bat

同样古老，且浩瀚无边。星光

Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom

沉静，像柏拉图，映照着山岭。 

Is ancient, too, and immense. The star

Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain.

假如没有风，或者，我们以为，我们听到

大地绕地轴碾磨的声音，或听到历史

If there were no wind we might, we think, hear

滴落于黑暗，像地下室里渗漏的管子。

The earth grind on its axis, or history

Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.