Márgarét, áre you gríeving

玛格丽特，你还在伤心

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

为那金树丛叶正落尽？

Leáves like the things of man, you

那些树叶，如人的一切，你

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

用赤子之心爱怜它们，是否明智？

Ah! ás the heart grows older

啊！当心越长越年迈

It will come to such sights colder

它也会对这般惨象越加冷漠不睬

By and by, nor spare a sigh

久而久之，连声轻叹都懒得发出

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

哪怕满世界都是枯枝残树；

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

而你也明白了你悲从何出。

Now no matter, child, the name:

现在不论，孩子呀，它名为何物：

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

悲哀的春天也与这秋天源出一处。

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

嘴巴不曾，意念也从未，能一一详诉

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

那心所能听到的声音，而幽灵却已猜出：

It ís the blight man was born for,

人生来就为了这命定的老朽，

It is Margaret you mourn for.

玛格丽特你就是在为它泪流。