一月无人来访

No visitors in January

一个雪人在院子里抽着冰冷的烟斗。

A snowman smokes a cold pipe in the yard.

他们像老妇人一样站着，

They stand about like ancient women,

二月的山峦。

The February hills.

他们看见了许多的来和去，那些山。

They have seen many a coming and going, the hills.

三月，摩尔菲亚撒满了

In March. Moorfea is littered

膝盖外翻的羔羊。

With knocked-kneed lambs.

四月门口的水仙花，

Daffodils at the door in April.

三个裹着披肩的马利亚。

Three shawled Marys.

一只云雀炫耀在天空的门廊。

A lark splurges in galilees of sky.

五月，

And in May

泥炭工人用铁锹撞击沼泽，

Peatmen strike the bog with spades,

召唤出黑色的火焰，

Summoning black fire,

六月的蜜蜂

The June bee

带着一袋沉重的战利品撞在玻璃上。

Bumps in the pane with a heavy bag of plunder.

七月的陌生人蜂拥而至，

Strangers swarms in July

带着相机、望远镜和鸟类书籍。

With cameras, binoculars, bird books.

他在八月砰的一声撞上了峭壁，

He thumped the crag in August,

一头瞎眼的蓝鲸。

A blind blue whale.

九月的小农场被金色的浪涌打沉。

September crofts get wrecked in blond surges.

他们努力着，那些收割者，

They struggle, the harvesters,

他们将面包和麦芽酒收获节拖进冬天。

They drag loaf and ale-kirn into winter.

十月的鱼贩

n October the fishmonger

在岸边争吵、恳求、威胁。

Argues, pleads, threatens at the shore.

十一月没有别的

Nothing in November

只有补锅匠在门口，用罐子哀嚎。

But tinkers at the door, keening with cans.

十二月的某个午夜，

Some ecember midnight

基督，主，温暖地躺在我们的牛棚里。

Christ, lord, lie warm in our byre.

这里有星星，一头牛，贫穷足够。

Here are stars, an ox, poverty enough.