迄今尚无人敢于写下此事，

No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,

我却明了，所有伟人的灵魂是如何

And yet i know, how that the souls of all men great

时不时地穿过我们，

At times pass through us,

我们便融入其中，而无非

And we are melted into them, and are not

是他们灵魂的映像。

Save reflexions of their souls.

于是我片刻间身为但丁亦身为

Thus am I Dante for a space and am

一个弗朗索瓦·维永，谣曲之王与窃贼

One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief

或身为那种我不会书写的圣者，

Or am such holy ones i may not write,

以免亵渎被写下而毁销吾名；

Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;

只此一刹那火焰便熄灭。

This for an instant and the flame is gone.

恰如我们最中心闪耀着一个圆球

‘Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere

剔透，熔金，就是那个“我”

Translucent, molten gold, that is the “I”

有某一形体将自身投入其中：

And into this some form projects itself:

基督，或约翰，抑或那个佛洛伦萨人；

Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine

仿佛那清晰的空间不存在，若一个形体

And as the clear space is not if a form’s

被加于其上。

Imposed thereon,

于是我们一时间断离于万有，

So cease we from all being for the time,

而这些，灵魂的导师们，永生不息。

And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.