It is more onerous

它比各种美的礼仪

than the rites of beauty

或者是家务事

or housework, harder than love.

都要繁重苛刻，比爱还艰难。

But you expect it of me casually,

但你很轻巧地指望我如此，

the way you expect the sun

就像你期待着太阳

to come up, not in spite of rain

照常升起，无论风雨和乌云

or clouds but because of them.

或恰恰是因为刮风下雨。

And so I smile, as if my own fidelity

于是我微笑，似乎我对哀伤的

to sadness were a hidden vice—

忠贞是个隐秘的恶习——

that downward tug on my mouth,

我往下拉着的嘴角，

my old suspicion that health

还有我多年的疑虑，觉得

and love are brief irrelevancies,

健康和爱情都是短暂的旁枝末节，

no more than laughter in the warm dark

无异于温暖暗夜中发出的笑声

strangled at dawn.

凌晨一到就被窒灭。

Happiness. I try to hoist it

幸福。我再一次试图

on my narrow shoulders again—

用我狭窄的肩膀把它扛起——

a knapsack heavy with gold coins.

一个装满金币的沉重包裹。

I stumble around the house,

我在房子里跌跌撞撞，

bump into things.

四处碰壁。

Only Midas himself

唯有点石成金的迈达斯（Midas）

would understand.

才会懂得。