The woman is perfected.

这女人完美了。

Her dead

她僵死的

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

躯体带着功成名就的微笑，

The illusion of a Greek necessity

古希腊必然命运的幻觉

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

流淌在她长罩袍的皱褶中，

Her bare

她赤裸的

Feet seem to be saying:

双脚似乎在说：

We have come so far, it is over.

我们走了这么远，都结束了。

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

每个夭死的孩子蜷曲着，一条白蛇。

One at each little

各自守着一只小小的

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

盛奶的罐子，现已空了。

She has folded

她已将他们折叠

Them back into her body as petals

放回她的身体，如一朵玫瑰的

Of a rose close when the garden

花瓣在花园僵枯时闭合，

Stiffens and odors bleed

而馨香如血流

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

涌出这朵夜花甜蜜幽深的喉管。

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

月亮没什么可悲伤的，

Staring from her hood of bone.

从她罩着骨头的头巾里呆看。

She is used to this sort of thing.

对这种事她已习以为常。

Her blacks crackle and drag.

她的黑块噼啪地开裂缓慢地移动。