我想起，当年希腊的诗人曾经歌咏:
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
年复一年，那良辰在殷切的盼望中
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
翩然降临，各自带一份礼物
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
分送给世人一一年老或是年少。
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
当我这么想，感叹着诗人的古调，
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue.
穿过我泪眼所逐渐展开的幻觉，
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears.
我看见，那欢乐的岁月、哀伤的岁月一一
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years.
我自己的年华，把一片片黑影接连着
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
掠过我的身。紧接着，我就觉察
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware.
(我哭了) 我背后正有个神秘的黑影
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
在移动，而且一把揪住了我的发，
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair.
往后拉，还有一声吆喝(我只是在挣扎) :
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, --
这回是谁逮住了你? 猜!”死，“我答话"
Guess now who holds thee?Death.' I said. But, there
听哪，那银铃似的回音:“不是死，是爱!"
The silver answer rang, -- Not Death, but love.'