在春天的深处，冬天还赖着不走。绝望之中，痛苦的它

Deep into spring, winter is hanging on. Bitter and skillful in his hopelessness, he stays alive in every shady place, starving along the Mediterranean: angry to see the glittering sea-pale boulder alive with lizards green as Judas leaves. Winter is hanging on. He still believes. He tries to catch a lizard by the shoulder. One olive tree below Grottaglie welcomes the winter into noontime shade, and talks as softly as Pythagoras. Be still, be patient, I can hear him say, cradling in his arms the wounded head, letting the sunlight touch the savage face.

在一个个阴凉处巧妙地活了下来。沿着地中海，它一路忍受着饥饿：

它恼怒地看着闪烁的海面，巨大的卵石上爬着蜥蜴，

它们像紫荆树叶一样碧绿。冬天赖着不走。它依然相信。

它企图抓住肩膀上的一只蜥蜴。格洛塔列的一棵橄榄树

欢迎它来到正午的树阴下，像毕达格拉斯一样

温柔地对它说话。安静点，耐心点，我听到它说。

它把这颗受伤的头颅揽进怀中，让阳光抚摸这张

野蛮的脸。