She sends me news of blue jays, frost,

她给我寄来蓝松鸦，霜，

Of stars and now the harvest moon

星星，以及此刻正升起在贫瘠山巅的

That rides above the stricken hills.

秋月的消息。

Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,

她轻描淡写地提及寒冷，痛苦，

And lists what is already lost.

并罗列出已经失去的事物。

Here where my life seems hard and slow,

读到这里，我的生活显得艰难而缓慢，

I read of glowing melons piled

我读到生机勃勃的瓜

Beside the door, and baskets filled

堆在门边，篮子里

With fennel, rosemary and dill,

装满茴香，迷迭香和莳萝，

While all she could not gather in

而所有无法被采集，或隐藏在叶子中的

Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.

那些，她只能任其变黑并落下。

Here where my life seems hard and strange,

读到这里，我的生活显得艰难而陌生，

I read her wild excitement when

我读到她的兴奋，每当

Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.

星星升起，霜降下，蓝松鸦唱起歌。

The broken year will make no change

荒芜的岁月

Upon her wise and whirling heart; -

没有改变她聪明而热情的心；

She knows how people always plan

她知道人们总是规划

To live their lives, and never do.

自己的生活，却难以如愿。

She will not tell me if she cries.

如果她哭泣，她不会告诉我。

I touch the crosses by her name;

我抚摸着她的名字；

I fold the pages as I rise,

我叠好信，站起来，

And tip the envelope, from which

倾倒信封，从里面飘出了

Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.

玻璃苣，忍冬，芸香的碎片。