是你种了它；

It was you planted it;

然后它长高，生发簇簇绿叶，

and it grew high and put on crops of leaves,

就像炫富的扇子，遮蔽着结网的蜘蛛，

extravagant fans; sheltered in it the spider weaves

穿梭的飞鸟。

and birds move through it.

尽管它长得这么好，

For all it grew so well

但却从未开花，虽然我们守望以耐心，

it never bloomed, though we watched patiently,

颇费心机地把它摆放在，

having shosen its place where we could see

从窗台可以看到的地方。

it from our window-sill.

现在，在它的第十八个春天，

Now, in its eighteenth spring,

突然地，彻底地，节日庆典一般，

suddenly, wholly, ceremoniously

它抖落了身上的每片叶子，裸身站立，

it puts off every leaf and stands up nakedly,

calling and gathering,

它呼唤，它召集，一点点，

一滴滴，所有的能量，

every capacity in it, every power,

自那跳动大红脉膊的根系，

drawing up from the very roots of being

把我的视觉震荡进一片疼痛的花海中。

this pulse of total red that shocks my seeing

into an agony of flower.

是你种了它；

是我靠在窗台上看它站立在

It was you planted it;

一片干枯的叶子中，就像我们的愿景；

and I lean on the sill to see it stand

是过去的那许多年头，

in its dry shuffle of leaves, just as we planned,

喂养了它。

these past years feeding it.