It seems wrong that out of this bird,

似乎错了，这只鸟

Black, bold, a suggestion of dark

很黑，扎眼，让人觉得

Places about it, there yet should come

四周漆黑，但从那竟传出

Such rich music, as though the notes'

如此丰富的音乐，仿佛

Ore were changed to a rare metal

那发亮的嘴一触，音符的

At one touch of that bright bill.

矿石都成了稀有的金属。

You have heard it often, alone at your desk

你时常听它歌唱，独自在案前，

In a green April, your mind drawn

在青葱的四月，心思被牵引

Away from its work by sweet disturbance

离开了本职，沉浸于屋外

Of the mild evening outside your room.

那温柔夜色的甜美搅扰。

A slow singer, but loading each phrase

一个舒缓的歌者，可每个乐句

With history's overtones, love, joy

都载着历史的泛音：爱、欢

And grief learned by his dark tribe

与悲，那是他的黑色部族

In other orchards and passed on

在其他果园学到的，并本能地

Instinctively as they are now,

流传下来，就像现在这般，

But fresh always with new tears.

带着新泪而永远常新。