鸟儿们已经从它们的夏日天空飞到南方，

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south,

被熊蜂抛弃，

And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass

花朵的金币在衰草俯身的两岸干枯。

Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion,

我们在等待一头冬天的雄狮，

Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves.

冰晶的身体，戴着死叶做成的宽边帽子。

A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea,

一个月前，当海洋中盐的引擎，

A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses

驱动最初的风暴滚向度假的小屋，

Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping

在那里夏天仍然舒服地窝在游泳池边的躺椅上，

An aging whiskey of distances and departures.

抿着由分开的距离酿造的陈年威士忌。

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

现在秋天的货轮已经喷烟离岸。

My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave.

我已经把所有可能性打进行李，但却仍未动身。

I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe,

我已经足够快乐，在这无拘无束地漂浮在宇宙中的达科他，

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark.

在这开始在冬日黑暗的层浪下战抖的大草原。