苍老紫杉树，你笼住的碑

old Yew, which graspest at the stones

　　把下面死者的姓名道出，

    that name the under-lying dead,

　　你细枝网住无梦的头颅，

    thy fibres net the dreamless head,

你根儿裹在遗骨的周围。

thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

花开时节又带来了花朵，

The seasons bring the flower again，

　　带来了初生的幼畜雏禽；

    and bring the firstling to the flock;

你荫影里的一下下钟声

    and in the dusk of thee, the clock

把短短的人生逐点敲走。

beats out the little lives of men.

你呀，任何风改变不了你，

O not for thee the glow, the bloom,

　　阳光和花朵都同你无关，

    who changest not in any gale,

　　连烙铁一般的夏日也难

    nor branding summer suns avail

触动你悠悠千年的阴郁。

to touch thy thousand years of gloom:

看着你这棵阴沉沉的树，

And gazing on thee, sullen tree,

　　愿像你一样地坚忍顽强，

    sick for thy stubborn hardihood,

　　我仿佛血气消尽人变僵，

    I seem to fail from out my blood

渐渐地与你融合在一处。

and grow incorporate into thee.