Day 1

If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.

On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Ann Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.

I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that 'window of the soul,' the eye. I can only 'see' through my fingertips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities, of course, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressions and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.

Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my fingertips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance? Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?

For instance, can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? Some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they so not know. And, inci’dentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.

The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately 'eyewitnesses' see. A given event will be 'seen' in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.

Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!

The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidence of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.

And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs - the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender, and playful friendships are so comforting to me.

On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into a home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.

In the afternoon of that first seeing day, I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature, trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field (perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.

When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light, which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.

In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.

Three Days to See

by Helen Keller

假如给我三天光明 （海伦·凯勒）

I

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations, should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?

Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die to-morrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the epicurean motto of 'Eat, drink, and be merry,' but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

In stories, the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.

The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our facilities and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing people see little.

How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my fingertips.

At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.

If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in 'How to Use Your Eyes'. The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

II

Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I was given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three days to see. If with the oncoming darkness if the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?

I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest long on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.


海伦·凯勒（Helen Keller，1880 －1968），美国著名的女作家、教育家、慈善家、社会活动家。在19个月时因患急性胃充血、脑充血而被夺去视力和听力。1899年6月考入哈佛大学拉德克利夫女子学院。1968年6月1日逝世，享年87岁，却有86年生活在无光、无声的世界里。在此时间里，她先后完成了14本著作。其中最著名的有：《假如给我三天光明》《我的人生故事》《石墙故事》。她致力于为残疾人造福，建立了许多慈善机构，1964年荣获“总统自由勋章”，次年入选美国《时代周刊》评选的“二十世纪美国十大偶像”之一。

On Joy and Sorrow
by Kahill Gilbran
欢乐与忧伤---纪伯伦

Then a woman said, “Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.”
And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from
Which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

一位妇人说：请给我们谈谈欢乐和忧伤。
他回答：你们的欢乐是无法掩饰的忧伤。
你欢笑的泉眼常常也饱含着泪水。

And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being.
The more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup
That was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit,
The very wood that was hollowed with knives?

除此之外，又当如何？
镌刻在你们身上的忧伤愈深，你们能盛装的欢乐愈多。
斟满了美酒的杯盏，难道不是曾在陶工炉火中锻造的杯盏吗？

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and
You shall find it is only that which has given
You sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,
And you shall see that in truth you are weeping for
That which has been your delight.

当你们快乐时，审视自己的内心，
你们会发现曾经的忧伤如今却让你们快乐。
当你们忧伤时，再次审视自己的内心，
你们会发现曾经的快乐如今却让你们流泪。

Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,”
and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

你们中有些人说：“欢乐胜于忧伤。”
另一些人则说：“不，忧伤更伟大。”
但我要说，他们是相辅相成的。
它们一同降临，当其中一个单独与你同坐时，
记住另一个正在你的床上安歇。

Verily you are suspended like scales
Between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh
His gold and his silver, needs must your
Joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

的确，你们就像在忧伤与欢乐之间摇摆不定的天平。
只有当你们彻底空虚时，你们才能平衡稳定。
把你浮沉不定的快乐和悲伤都留给
那用你来称量金银的守财奴吧。


Kahill Gilbran:
纪·哈·纪伯伦（1883-1931）黎巴嫩作家、诗人、画家，是阿拉伯文学的主要奠基人，被称为艺术天才、黎巴嫩文坛骄子。
其主要作品有《泪与笑》《先知》《沙与沫》等，纪伯伦、鲁迅和拉宾德拉纳特·泰戈尔一样是近代东方文学走向世界的先驱。

These Things Shall Never Die
by Charles Dickens

The pure, the bright, the beautiful,
That stirred our hearts in youth,
The impulses to wordless prayer,
The dreams of love and truth;
The longing after something's lost,
The spirit's yearning cry,
The striving after better hopes-
These things can never die.

The timid hand stretched forth to aid
A brother in his need,
A kindly word in grief's dark hour
That proves a friend indeed ;
The plea for mercy softly breathed,
When justice threatens nigh,
The sorrow of a contrite heart-
These things shall never die.

Let nothing pass for every hand
Must find some work to do;
Lose not a chance to waken love-
Be firm, and just ,and true;
So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on thee from on high.
And angel voices say to thee---
These things shall never die.

这些美好不会消逝
查尔斯·狄更斯

一切纯洁的、辉煌的、美丽的，
强烈地震撼着我们年轻的心灵，
推动着我们做无言的祷告，
让我们梦想着爱与真理；
在失去后感到珍惜的，
使灵魂深切地呼喊着，
为了更美好的梦想而奋斗着——
这些美好不会消逝。

羞怯地伸出援助的手，
在你的兄弟需要的时候，
伤痛、困难的时候，一句亲切的话
就足以证明朋友的真心；
轻声地祈求怜悯，
在审判临近的时候，
懊悔的心有一种伤感，
这些美好不会消逝。

在人间传递温情，
尽你所能地去做；
别错失了唤醒爱的良机——
为人要坚定，正直，忠诚；
因此上方照耀着你的那道光芒
就不会消失。
你将听到天使的声音在说——
这些美好不会消逝。

查尔斯·狄更斯（Charles Dickens）：1812－1870，英国著名作家。主要作品有《大卫·科波菲尔》《匹克威克外传》《雾都孤儿》 《老古玩店》《艰难时世》《我们共同的朋友》《双城记》等。

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII
by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I do not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

第17首十四行诗
巴勃罗·聂鲁达
(覃学岚 译)

我爱你，但不会像爱刺激的玫瑰、黄玉
或者康乃馨火舌般的花蕊那样。
我爱你，像爱某些隐秘可爱的东西那样，
在阴影与灵魂之间，偷偷地爱你。

我爱你，就像爱从不开花，身上却透着
看不见的花的光芒的植物那样；
由于你的爱，某种纯真的香味
自大地升起，隐隐活在我体内。

我爱你，对爱的方式，时间，起点概不知晓。
我爱你，爱得直截了当，既不复杂也不骄傲；
我爱你，因为除了爱你，我不知道
别的办法：你我形影相随，唇齿相依，
亲密得我胸口上你与我的手莫辨彼此，
亲密得我进入梦乡，你也会双眼紧闭。

The Road Not Taken
BY ROBERT FROST

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

未选择的路
（罗伯特·弗罗斯特）

黄色的树林里分出两条路
可惜我不能同时去涉足
我在那路口久久伫立
我向着一条路极目望去
直到它消失在丛林深处

但我却选择了另外一条路
它荒草萋萋，十分幽寂
显得更诱人，更美丽
虽然在这条小路上
很少留下旅人的足迹

那天清晨落叶满地
两条路都未经脚印污染
呵，留下一条路等改日再见
但我知道路径延绵无尽头
恐怕我难以再回返

也许多少年后在某个地方，
我将轻声叹息将往事回顾：
一片树林里分出两条路——
而我选择了人迹更少的一条，
从此决定了我一生的道路。

《未选择的路》是美国著名诗人罗伯特·弗罗斯特的著名诗篇。罗伯特·弗罗斯特堪称美国20世纪90年代最受欢迎的诗人之一，是美国非官方的桂冠诗人，他一生致力于诗歌的创作，主要写作并出版了10部诗集，这一首是其第三部诗集《山的间隔》中的名篇。

Hanover Square

Can it really be sixty-two years ago that I first saw you?

It is truly a lifetime, I know. But as I gaze into your eyes now, it seems like only yesterday that I first saw you, in that small cafe in Hanover Square.

From the moment I saw you smile, as you opened the door for that young mother and her newborn baby. I knew. I knew that I wanted to share the rest of my life with you.

I still think of how foolish I must have looked, as I gazed at you, that first time. I remember watching you intently, as you took off your hat and loosely shook your short dark hair with your fingers. I felt myself becoming immersed in your every detail, as you placed your hat on the table and cupped your hands around the hot cup of tea, gently blowing the steam away with your pouted lips.

From that moment, everything seemed to make perfect sense to me. The people in the cafe and the busy street outside all disappeared into a hazy blur. All I could see was you.

All through my life I have relived that very first day. Many, many times I have sat and thought about that the first day, and how for a few fleeting moments I am there, feeling again what is like to know true love for the very first time. It pleases me that I can still have those feelings now after all those years, and I know I will always have them to comfort me.

Not even as I shook and trembled uncontrollably in the trenches, did I forget your face. I would sit huddled into the wet mud, terrified, as the hails of bullets and mortars crashed down around me. I would clutch my rifle tightly to my heart, and think again of that very first day we met. I would cry out in fear, as the noise of war beat down around me. But, as I thought of you and saw you smiling back at me, everything around me would be become silent, and I would be with you again for a few precious moments, far from the death and destruction. It would not be until I opened my eyes once again, that I would see and hear the carnage of the war around me.

I cannot tell you how strong my love for you was back then, when I returned to you on leave in the September, feeling battered, bruised and fragile. We held each other so tight I thought we would burst. I asked you to marry me the very same day and I whooped with joy when you looked deep into my eyes and said "yes" to being my bride.

I'm looking at our wedding photo now, the one on our dressing table, next to your jewellery box. I think of how young and innocent we were back then. I remember being on the church steps grinning like a Cheshire cat, when you said how dashing and handsome I looked in my uniform. The photo is old and faded now, but when I look at it, I only see the bright vibrant colors of our youth. I can still remember every detail of the pretty wedding dress your mother made for you, with its fine delicate lace and pretty pearls. If I concentrate hard enough, I can smell the sweetness of your wedding bouquet as you held it so proudly for everyone to see.

I remember being so over enjoyed, when a year later, you gently held my hand to your waist and whispered in my ear that we were going to be a family.

I know both our children love you dearly; they are outside the door now, waiting.

Do you remember how I panicked like a mad man when Jonathon was born? I can still picture you laughing and smiling at me now, as I clumsily held him for the very first time in my arms. I watched as your laughter faded into tears, as I stared at him and cried my own tears of joy.

Sarah and Tom arrived this morning with little Tessie. Can you remember how we both hugged each other tightly when we saw our tiny granddaughter for the first time? I can't believe she will be eight next month. I am trying not to cry, my love, as I tell you how beautiful she looks today in her pretty dress and red shiny shoes, she reminds me so much of you that first day we met. She has her hair cut short now, just like yours was all those years ago. When I met her at the door her smile wrapped around me like a warm glove, just like yours used to do, my darling.

I know you are tired, my dear, and I must let you go. But I love you so much and it hurts to do so.

As we grew old together, I would tease you that you had not changed since we first met. But it is true, my darling. I do not see the wrinkles and grey hair that other people see. When I look at you now, I only see your sweet tender lips and youthful sparkling eyes as we sat and had out first picnic next to that small stream, and chased each other around that big old oak tree. I remember wishing those first few days together would last forever. Do you remember how exciting and wonderful those days were?

I must go now, my darling. Our children are waiting outside. They want to say goodbye to you.

I wipe the tears away from my eyes and bend my frail old legs down to the floor, so that I can kneel beside you. I lean close to you and take hold of your hand and kiss your tender lips for the very last time.

Sleep peacefully my dear.

I am sad that you had to leave me, but please don't worry. I am content, knowing I will be with you soon. I am too old and too empty now to live much longer without you.

I know it won't be long before we meet again in that small cafe in Hanover Square.

Goodbye, my darling wife.

追忆似水年华

我们初次相遇，难道真的是六十二年前吗？

年华似水，倏忽间我们已相携一世。望着你的眼睛，当年的邂逅历历如在昨昔，就在汉诺威广场的那间小咖啡馆里。
...

我明白，亲爱的，你累了，我应该让你离开。可是爱人即逝，孤侣何伤！

...

亲爱的，安心地睡吧。

这分离扯碎了我的心。别担心，我很快就会来陪伴你。生死茫茫，尘世间没有你，这满腔的衷肠凭谁倾诉？

很快，我们就能在汉诺威广场的那间小咖啡馆里再相逢。

再会了，我的爱妻。

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines
by Pablo Neruda （1904 ～ 1973，智利著名诗人。其早期的诗集《二十首情诗和一首绝望的歌》被认为是他最著名的作品之一。著名诗作包括《我喜欢你是寂静的》、《似水年华》等。）

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,
The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
And I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance，
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these be the last verses that I write for her.

爱那么短，遗忘那么长
by 聂鲁达

今夜我可以写下最哀伤的诗句
比如写下，“夜色零落,蓝色的星光在远方颤抖"
夜风在天空中回旋吟唱

今夜我可以写下最哀伤的诗句
我爱过她，而且有时她也爱我
多少个如今的晚上，我曾拥她入怀
在无垠的天空下一遍又一遍的吻她
她爱过我，有时我也爱她
我怎么能不爱上她那一双沉静的双眼

今夜我可以写下最哀伤的诗句
我不再拥有她，因为我已失去她
聆听广阔的夜空，因为没有她而更加广阔
而诗句坠在灵魂上，如同露水坠在牧草上
我的爱留不住她，那又有什么关系?
夜色零落，而她不在我身边

这就是一切了，远处有人唱着歌
我的灵魂因失去了她而失落
我用目光搜寻她，像要向她靠近
我用心寻找她，她却不在我身边
相同的夜让相同的树林泛白
彼时，我们也不再相似如初

我不再爱她，这是确定的，但我曾经多么爱她
我的声音试着找寻风来触碰她的听觉
别人的，她将会是别人的，如同我从前的吻
她的声音，她洁白的身体，她深邃的眸子

我不再爱她，这是确定的，但也许我还爱着她
爱那么短，而遗忘那么长
因为多少个如今夜的晚上，我曾拥她入怀
我的灵魂因为失去了她而失落
这是她最后一次让我承受伤痛
而这些，是我最后一次为她写下的诗句

Lost Time （选自泰戈尔荣获诺贝尔文学奖之作《吉檀迦利》）
by Tagore

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.

逝去的时光
by 泰戈尔 （冰心 译）

在许多闲散的⽇⼦里，我悼惜着虚度了的光阴。
但是光阴并没有虚度，我的主。
你掌握了我⽣命⾥⼨寸的光阴。
你潜藏在万物的⼼里，培育着种子发芽，蓓蕾绽红，花落结实。

我困乏了，在闲榻上睡眠，想象⼀一切工作都已停歇。
早晨醒来，我发现我的园里，
却开遍了异蕊奇花。

I Carry Your Heart with Me
by E. E. Cummings (1894-1962，美国著名诗人、作家)

I carry your heart with me
I carry it in my heart
I am never without it
anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling

I fear no fate
for you are my fate, my sweet
I want no world
for beautiful you are my world, my true
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here's the deepest secret nobody knows
here's the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky and of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart

本诗用词简洁，娓娓道来，表达了诗人失去挚爱后的深切思念。

感谢热心听友Shepherd13推荐此诗。