诗歌欣赏·Mother
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Mother I have praised① many lowed ones in my song. And yet I stand. Before her shrine②, to whom all things belong. With empty hands. Perhaps the ripening future③ holds a time. For things unsaid; Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme④ Their daily bread. |
母 我曾用歌把许多我爱的人赞扬。 然而当我来到, 她的圣堂(那是一切事物归依之处)。 我只带着空手一双。 也许在未来,待我成熟时。 我会有话对她讲; 但不是现在;人们不会用诗 把每天吃的面包赞扬 |


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