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Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away.
And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall
there with a sign.
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åï¼è¯·çä¸ä½ 们ç足å°å¨æçæåéã
O Troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words.
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The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover.
It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.
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è¯4
æ¯å¤§å°ç泪ç¹ï¼ä½¿å¥¹çå¾®ç¬ä¿æçéæ¥ä¸è°¢ã
It is the tears of the earth that keep here smiles in bloom.
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æ å çæ²æ¼ çç追æ±ä¸å¶ç»¿èçç±ï¼å¥¹ææ头ç¬çé£å¼äºã
The mighty desert is burning for the love of a bladeof grass who
shakes her head and laughs and flies away.
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è¯6
å¦æä½ å 失å»äºå¤ªé³èæµæ³ªï¼é£ä¹ä½ ä¹å°å¤±å»ç¾¤æäºã
If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.
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è·³èççæµæ°´åï¼å¨ä½ éä¸çæ³¥æ²ï¼è¦æ±ä½ çæ声ï¼ä½ çæµå¨å¢ãä½ è¯æç¸è¶³çæ³¥æ²è俱ä¸ä¹ï¼
The sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness?
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è¯8
她ççåçè¸ï¼å¦å¤é¨ä¼¼çï¼æ
æ°çæç梦éã
Her wishful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.
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è¯9
æä¸æ¬¡ï¼æ们梦è§å¤§å®¶é½æ¯ä¸ç¸è¯çã
æ们éäºï¼å´ç¥éæ们åæ¯ç¸äº²ç¸ç±çã
Once we dreamt that we were strangers.
We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.
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è¯10
忧æå¨æçå¿éå¹³éä¸å»ï¼æ£å¦æ®è²é临å¨å¯éçå±±æä¸ã
Sorrow is hushed into peace in my heart like the evening among the silent trees.
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æäºçä¸è§çæï¼å¦ææçå¾®ï¼é£æï¼çï¼æ£å¨æçå¿ä¸å¥ç潺ï¼æ°µç°ï¼çä¹å£°ã
Some unseen fingers, like an idle breeze, are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.
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è¯12
âæµ·æ°´åï¼ä½ 说çæ¯ä»ä¹ï¼â
âæ¯æ°¸æççé®ãâ
â天空åï¼ä½ åççè¯æ¯ä»ä¹ï¼â
âæ¯æ°¸æçæ²é»ãâ
What language is thine, O sea?
The language of eternal question.
What language is thy answer, O sky?
The language of eternal silence.
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ééå°å¬ï¼æçå¿åï¼å¬é£ä¸ççä½è¯ï¼è¿æ¯å®å¯¹ä½ æ±ç±ç表示åã
Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with which it makes love to you.
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åé çç¥ç§ï¼æå¦å¤é´çé»æï¼ï¼æ¯ä¼å¤§çãèç¥è¯ç幻影å´ä¸è¿å¦æ¨é´ä¹é¾ã
The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night--it is great. Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.
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è¯15
ä¸è¦å 为å³å£æ¯é«çï¼ä¾¿è®©ä½ çç±æ
åå¨å³å£ä¸ã
Do not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
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æä»æ¨åå¨çªåï¼ä¸çå¦ä¸ä¸ªè·¯äººä¼¼çï¼åçäºä¸ä¼ï¼åæç¹ç¹å¤´åèµ°è¿å»äºã
I sit at my window this morning where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment, nods to me and goes.
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è¿äºå¾®ï¼é£æï¼ï¼æ¯æ å¶çç°ç°ä¹å£°åï¼å®ä»¬å¨æçå¿é欢æ¦å°å¾®è¯çã
There little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their whisper of joy in my mind.
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ä½ çä¸è§ä½ èªå·±ï¼ä½ æçè§çåªæ¯ä½ çå½±åã
What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow.
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ç¥åï¼æçé£äºæ¿æçæ¯æå»åï¼å®ä»¬æå¨ä½ çæ声ä¸å§å«çå¢ã
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My wishes are fools, they shout across thy song, my Master.
Let me but listen.
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æä¸è½éæ©é£æ好çã
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I cannot choose the best.
The best chooses me.
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é£äºæç¯èå¨èä¸ç人ï¼æä»ä»¬çå½±åæå°äºèªå·±åé¢ã
They throw their shadows before them who carry their lantern on their back.
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çç¥å¥ï¼è¿å°±æ¯çæ´»ã
That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life.
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âæ们è§è§çæ å¶é½æ声ååçé£é£åé¨ãä½ æ¯è°å¢ï¼é£æ ·çæ²é»çï¼â
âæä¸è¿æ¯ä¸æµè±ãâ
We, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms,
but who are you so silent?â
I am a mere flower.
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Rest belongs to the work as the eyelids to the eyes.
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人æ¯ä¸ä¸ªåççå©åï¼ä»çåéï¼å°±æ¯çé¿çåéã
Man is a born child, his power is the power of growth.
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God expects answers for the flowers he sends us, not for the sun the earth.
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æå¦ä¸ä¸ªè£¸ä½çå©åï¼å¿«å¿«æ´»æ´»å°å¨ç»¿å¶å½ä¸æ¸¸æï¼å®ä¸ç¥é人æ¯ä¼æ¬ºè¯çã
The light that plays, like a naked child, among the green leaves happily knows not that man can lie.
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åï¼ç¾åï¼å¨ç±ä¸æ¾ä½ èªå·±å§ï¼ä¸è¦å°ä½ éåçè°è°å»æ¾å¯»ã
O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.
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æçå¿æ她ç波浪å¨ä¸çç海岸ä¸å²æ¿çï¼ä»¥ç泪å¨ä¸è¾¹åç她çé¢è®°ï¼âæç±ä½ ãâ
My heart beats her waves at the shore of the world and writes upon it her signature in tears with the words, âI love thee.â
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âæå¿åï¼ä½ å¨çåä»ä¹å¢ï¼â
âåæå°è®©ä½ç»ä»ç太é³è´æ¬ãâ
Moon, for what do you wait?
To salute the sun for whom I must make way.
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绿æ é¿å°äºæççªåï¼ä»¿ä½æ¯ååç大å°ååºç渴æç声é³ã
The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.
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His own mornings are new surprises to God.
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çå½ä»ä¸çå¾å°èµäº§ï¼ç±æ
使å®å¾å°ä»·å¼ã
Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love.
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è¯34 æ¯ç«çæ²³åºï¼å¹¶ä¸æè°¢å®çè¿å»ã
The dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.
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The bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were a bird.
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è¯36
çå¸æå±éï¼âæå¾å°èªç±æ¶ä¾¿æäºæ声äºãâ
The waterfall sing, âI find my song, when I find my freedom.â
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æ说ä¸åºè¿å¿ä¸ºä»ä¹é£æ ·é»é»å°é¢ä¸§çãæ¯ä¸ºäºå®é£ä¸æ¾è¦æ±ï¼ä¸æ¾ç¥éï¼ä¸æ¾è®°å¾çå°å°çéè¦ã
I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence.
It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers.
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å¦äººï¼ä½ å¨æç家å¡çæ¶åï¼ä½ çæ足æå±çï¼æ£å¦å±±é´ç溪水æå±çå¨å°ç³ä¸æµè¿ã
Woman, when you move about in your household service your limbs singlike a hill stream among its pebbles.
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å½å¤ªé³æ¨ªè¿è¥¿æ¹çæµ·é¢æ¶ï¼å¯¹çä¸æ¹çä¸ä»çæåçæ¬ç¤¼ã
The sun goes to cross the Western sea, leaving its last salutation to the East.
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è¯40
ä¸è¦å ä¸ºä½ èªå·±æ²¡æèå£èå»è´£å¤ä½ çé£ç©ã
Do not blame your food because you have no appetite.
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群æ å¦è¡¨ç¤ºå¤§å°çæ¿æä¼¼çï¼è¸®èµ·èæ¥å天空窥æã
The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand atiptoe to peep at the heaven.
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ä½ å¾®å¾®å°ç¬çï¼ä¸åæ说ä»ä¹è¯ãèæè§å¾ï¼ä¸ºäºè¿ä¸ªï¼æå·²çå¾
å¾ä¹
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You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this
I had been waiting long.
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æ°´éç游鱼æ¯æ²é»çï¼éå°ä¸çå
½ç±»æ¯å§é¹çï¼ç©ºä¸çé£é¸æ¯æå±ççãä½æ¯ï¼äººç±»å´å
¼ææµ·éçæ²é»ï¼å°ä¸çå§é¹ä¸ç©ºä¸çé³ä¹ã
The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy,
the bird in the air is singing.
But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and
the music of the air.
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ä¸çå¨è¸èºä¹å¿çç´å¼¦ä¸è·è¿å»ï¼å¥åºå¿§éçä¹å£°ã
The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making the music of sadness.
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ä»æä»çååå½ä½ä»çä¸å¸ãå½ä»çååèå©çæ¶åä»èªå·±å´å¤±è´¥äºã
He has made his weapons his gods.
When his weapons win he is defeated himself.
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ç¥ä»åé ä¸æ¾å°ä»èªå·±ã
God finds himself by creating.
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é´å½±æ´ä¸å¥¹çé¢å¹ï¼ç§å¯å°ï¼æ¸©é¡ºå°ï¼ç¨å¥¹çæ²é»çç±çèæ¥ï¼è·å¨âå
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Shadow, with her veil drawn, follows Light in secret meekness,with her silent steps of love.
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群æä¸ææ¾å¾è±¡è¤ç«é£æ ·ã
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
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谢谢ç¥ï¼æä¸æ¯ä¸ä¸ªæåçè½®åï¼èæ¯è¢«åå¨è¿è½®åä¸ç活人ä¹ä¸ã
I thank thee that I am none of the wheels of power but I am one with the living creatures that are crushed by it.
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å¿æ¯å°éçï¼ä¸æ¯å®½åçï¼å®æ§çå¨æ¯ä¸ç¹ä¸ï¼å´å¹¶ä¸æ´»å¨ã
The mind, sharp but not broad, sticks at every point but does not move
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