From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through

从一面光束到另一面光束，翅膀浸穿于

Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds,

夕阳构建的几何形状和兰花形图案，

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

自山峰黑色的角状阴影，乘着

The last tumultuous avalanche of

松林和咆哮的峡谷之上

Light above pines and the guttural gorge,

最后激烈的光之雪崩，

The hawk comes.

鹰，来了。 

His wing

他的翅膀

Scythes down another day, his motion

之镰，又割下了一日，他的身姿

Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear

是那磨利的钢刃，我们听到

The crashless fall of stalks of Time.

时间之茎无声地断落。 

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

每一根茎端都沉重，载着我们罪孽的黄金。

看，看吧！他攀上那最后的光芒，

Look! Look! he is climbing the last light

不解时代也不知罪过，而在他

Who knows neither Time nor error, and under

眼睛下面，那不可宽恕、也未被宽恕的世界，摇晃

Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings

成为阴影。 

Into shadow.

现在，

Long now,

那最后的画眉鸟长久地寂静，最后的蝙蝠

The last thrush is still, the last bat

巡弋于他尖锐的象形文字。他的智慧

Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom

同样古老，且浩瀚无边。星光

Is ancient, too, and immense. The star

沉静，像柏拉图，映照着山岭。 

Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain.

假如没有风，或者，我们以为，我们听到

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

大地绕地轴碾磨的声音，或听到历史

The earth grind on its axis, or history

滴落于黑暗，像地下室里渗漏的管子。

Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.