In this lone, open glade I lie,Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;And at its end, to stay the eye,Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!Birds here make song, each bird has his,Across the girdling city's hum.How green under the boughs it is!How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!Sometimes a child will cross the gladeTo take his nurse his broken toy;Sometimes a thrush flit overheadDeep in her unknown day's employ.Here at my feet what wonders pass,What endless, active life is here!What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.Scarce fresher is the mountain-sodWhere the tired angler lies, stretch'd out,And, eased of basket and of rod,Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout.In the huge world, which roars hard by,Be others happy if they can!But in my helpless cradle IWas breathed on by the rural Pan.I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd,Think often, as I hear them rave,That peace has left the upper worldAnd now keeps only in the grave.Yet here is peace for ever new!When I who watch them am away,Still all things in this glade go throughThe changes of their quiet day.Then to their happy rest they pass!The flowers upclose, the birds are fed,The night comes down upon the grass,The child sleeps warmly in his bed.Calm soul of all things! make it mineTo feel, amid the city's jar,That there abides a peace of thine,Man did not make, and cannot mar.The will to neither strive nor cry,The power to feel with others give!Calm, calm me more! nor let me dieBefore I have begun to live.
In this lone, open glade I lie,<br>Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;<br>And at its end, to stay the eye,<br>Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!<br><br>Birds here make song, each bird has his,<br>Across the girdling city's hum.<br>How green under the boughs it is!<br>How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!<br><br>Sometimes a child will cross the glade<br>To take his nurse his broken toy;<br>Sometimes a thrush flit overhead<br>Deep in her unknown day's employ.<br><br>Here at my feet what wonders pass,<br>What endless, active life is here!<br>What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!<br>An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.<br><br>Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod<br>Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out,<br>And, eased of basket and of rod,<br>Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout.<br><br>In the huge world, which roars hard by,<br>Be others happy if they can!<br>But in my helpless cradle I<br>Was breathed on by the rural Pan.<br><br>I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd,<br>Think often, as I hear them rave,<br>That peace has left the upper world<br>And now keeps only in the grave.<br><br>Yet here is peace for ever new!<br>When I who watch them am away,<br>Still all things in this glade go through<br>The changes of their quiet day.<br><br>Then to their happy rest they pass!<br>The flowers upclose, the birds are fed,<br>The night comes down upon the grass,<br>孩子在床上睡熱烈。<br><br>萬物平靜的靈魂!讓我的<br>去感受,在一片城市的罐子,<br>那有遵守祢的平安,<br>人沒有做,也不可能三月 <br><br>意志既不追求,也不哭,<br>感受到的力量跟別人放棄!<br>淡定,從容我更多!也不讓我死<br>之前我已經開始生活。
正在翻譯中..
