The woman is perfected.

这个女人完美了。

Her dead

她死去的

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,

身体穿着成就的微笑,

The illusion of a Greek necessity

一种希腊的必然性的幻象

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,

飘动在她的托加长袍的涡卷里,

Her bare

她赤裸的

Feet seem to be saying:

双脚似乎在说着:

We have come so far, it is over.

我们已经走得很远,该结束了。

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,

每个死去孩子都蜷曲着,一条白色大蛇,

One at each little

一个孩子在各自小小的

Pitcher of milk, now empty.

牛奶罐,如今空了。

She has folded

她已经把他们

Them back into her body as petals

收拢进她的身体如一朵玫瑰的

Of a rose close when the garden

花瓣关闭,当花园

Stiffens and odors bleed

僵硬而气味流溢

From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

从那夜花甜蜜的、深深的喉咙。

The moon has nothing to be sad about,

月亮没有什么值得悲伤的,

Staring from her hood of bone.

自她骨头的头巾里往外凝视。

She is used to this sort of thing.

她已习惯了这种事情。

Her blacks crackle and drag.

她许多的黑噼啪作响并拖曳着。