夏天的飞鸟,飞到我的窗前唱歌,又飞去了。 秋天的黄叶,它们没有什么可唱,只叹息一声,飞落在那里。 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.
世界对着它的爱人,把它浩翰的面具揭下了。 它变小了,小如一首歌,小如一回永恒的接吻。 The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal
“海水呀, 你说的是什么?” “是永恒的疑问。” “天空呀, 你回答的话是什么?” “是永恒的沉默。” What language is thine, O sea? The language of eternal question. What language is thy answer, O sky? The language of eternal silence.
创造的神秘,有如夜间的黑暗--是伟大的。而知识的幻影却不过如晨间之雾。 The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night--it is great. Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.