No visitors in January

一月无人来访

A snowman smokes a cold pipe in the yard.

一个雪人在院子里抽着冰冷的烟斗。

They stand about like ancient women,

他们像老妇人一样站着，

The February hills.

二月的山峦。

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

他们看见了许多的来和去，那些山。

In March. Moorfea is littered

三月，摩尔菲亚撒满了

With knocked-kneed lambs.

膝盖外翻的羔羊。

Daffodils at the door in April.

四月门口的水仙花，

Three shawled Marys.

三个裹着披肩的马利亚。

A lark splurges in galilees of sky.

一只云雀炫耀在天空的门廊。

And in May

五月，

Peatmen strike the bog with spades,

泥炭工人用铁锹撞击沼泽，

Summoning black fire,

召唤出黑色的火焰，

The June bee

六月的蜜蜂

Bumps in the pane with a heavy bag of plunder.

带着一袋沉重的战利品撞在玻璃上。

Strangers swarms in July

七月的陌生人蜂拥而至，

With cameras, binoculars, bird books.

带着相机、望远镜和鸟类书籍。

He thumped the crag in August,

他在八月砰的一声撞上了峭壁，

A blind blue whale.

一头瞎眼的蓝鲸。

September crofts get wrecked in blond surges.

九月的小农场被金色的浪涌打沉。

They struggle, the harvesters,

他们努力着，那些收割者，

They drag loaf and ale-kirn into winter.

他们将面包和麦芽酒收获节拖进冬天。

n October the fishmonger

十月的鱼贩

Argues, pleads, threatens at the shore.

在岸边争吵、恳求、威胁。

Nothing in November

十一月没有别的

But tinkers at the door, keening with cans.

只有补锅匠在门口，用罐子哀嚎。

Some ecember midnight

十二月的某个午夜，

Christ, lord, lie warm in our byre.

基督，主，温暖地躺在我们的牛棚里。

Here are stars, an ox, poverty enough.

这里有星星，一头牛，贫穷足够。