No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,

迄今尚无人敢于写下此事，

And yet i know, how that the souls of all men great

我却明了，所有伟人的灵魂是如何

At times pass through us,

时不时地穿过我们，

And we are melted into them, and are not

我们便融入其中，而无非

Save reflexions of their souls.

是他们灵魂的映像。

Thus am I Dante for a space and am

于是我片刻间身为但丁亦身为

One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief

一个弗朗索瓦·维永，谣曲之王与窃贼

Or am such holy ones i may not write,

或身为那种我不会书写的圣者，

Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;

以免亵渎被写下而毁销吾名；

This for an instant and the flame is gone.

只此一刹那火焰便熄灭。

‘Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere

恰如我们最中心闪耀着一个圆球

Translucent, molten gold, that is the “I”

剔透，熔金，就是那个“我”

And into this some form projects itself:

有某一形体将自身投入其中：

Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine

基督，或约翰，抑或那个佛洛伦萨人；

And as the clear space is not if a form’s

仿佛那清晰的空间不存在，若一个形体

Imposed thereon,

被加于其上。

So cease we from all being for the time,

于是我们一时间断离于万有，

And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.

而这些，灵魂的导师们，永生不息。