Out of the bosom of the Air,

挣脱开大气的胸膛，

      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,

　从它层叠的云裳里摇落，

Over the woodlands brown and bare,

在荒凉的、丰收后的田野上，

      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,

　在一片林莽，棕黄而赤裸，

            Silent, and soft, and slow

　静静的，柔软的雪花

            Descends the snow.

　缓缓地朝地面落下。

Even as our cloudy fancies take

有如我们迷离的梦幻

      Suddenly shape in some divine expression,

　突然在庄严的字句里成形，

Even as the troubled heart doth make

有如我们苍白的容颜

      In the white countenance confession,

　显示了纷乱内心的衷情，

            The troubled sky reveals

纷乱的天空也表白

            The grief it feels.

它所感到的悲哀。

This is the poem of the air,

这是天空所写的诗，

      Slowly in silent syllables recorded;

　慢慢写在寂静的音节里；

This is the secret of despair,

这是绝望的秘密

      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,

　久久隐藏在阴霾的心底；

            Now whispered and revealed

　　现在，对着树林和田野；

            To wood and field.

　　它在低低诉说和倾泻。