There it was, word for word,

这就是它，逐字逐句地，

The poem that took the place of a mountain.

这首诗取代了一座大山。

He breathed its oxygen,

他畅饮它的氧气，

Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.

虽然这本诗集沦落在桌上的尘埃里。

It reminded him how he had needed

它警示过他该往何处去，

A place to go to in his own direction,

当他迷失方向的时候，

How he had recomposed the pines,

使他回想如何排列好松林，

Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,

如何移挪岩石，如何捡步于云中路，

For the outlook that would be right,

去找一个恰到好处的景观，

Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:

那儿，无言的完整造就了他的完整：

The exact rock where his inexactnesses

那恰切的山岩边，他的言不及义

Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,

终于发现了，逼近了，那个达意的景点，

Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,

那儿，他躺下，俯瞰着大海，

Recognize his unique and solitary home.

指认出他独一无二的幽居小屋。