这就是它，逐字逐句地，

There it was, word for word,

这首诗取代了一座大山。

The poem that took the place of a mountain.

他畅饮它的氧气，

He breathed its oxygen,

虽然这本诗集沦落在桌上的尘埃里。

Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.

它警示过他该往何处去，

It reminded him how he had needed

当他迷失方向的时候，

A place to go to in his own direction,

使他回想如何排列好松林，

How he had recomposed the pines,

如何移挪岩石，如何捡步于云中路，

Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,

去找一个恰到好处的景观，

For the outlook that would be right,

那儿，无言的完整造就了他的完整：

Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:

那恰切的山岩边，他的言不及义

The exact rock where his inexactnesses

终于发现了，逼近了，那个达意的景点，

Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,

那儿，他躺下，俯瞰着大海，

Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,

指认出他独一无二的幽居小屋。

Recognize his unique and solitary home.