The Trees

Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf 

Like something almost being said; 

The recent buds relax and spread, 

Their greenness is a kind of grief. 

Is it that they are born again 

And we grow old? No, they die too, 

Their yearly trick of looking new 

Is written down in rings of grain. 

Yet still the unresting castles thresh 

In fullgrown thickness every May. 

Last year is dead, they seem to say, 

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

树

树上涌起叶子

像即将出口的话；

那舒展的新芽，

嫩绿含着一丝悲戚。

是否树重生

而我们衰老？ 不， 树也衰老， 

每年如新的巧妙

被藏在躯干的年轮。

不倦的树依然迭更

每个五月都是茂密。

去年已死，树仿佛宣示，

一起来重生， 重生， 重生。