这是心灵之光，冷冷的，像行星。

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.

心灵之树群是黑色的。光是蓝色。

The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.

草儿将它们的悲伤卸载至我的脚背，仿佛我是上帝，

The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,

刺痛我的脚踝，呢喃着它们的谦卑。

Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.

冒着蒸汽的，精纯的雾栖居此地

Fumy, spirituous mists inhabit this place

与我的房子之间隔着一排墓石。

Separated from my house by a row of headstones.

我只是看不见，到底可以去哪里。

I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

月亮不是一扇门。它自身就是一张脸，

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,

白如指节，焦躁异常。

White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

它身后拖曳着大海像一桩幽暗的罪；它安静

It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet

带着全然绝望的O形口。我住在这里。

With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

每周日两次，铃声惊动天空——

Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky—

八条伟大的舌头确认着基督复活。

Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.

最后，它们清醒地当当敲出自己的名字。

At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

紫杉指向天空。它有哥特式身形。

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.

眼睛跟随它上升就会找到月亮。

The eyes lift after it and find the moon.

月亮是我的母亲。她不像玛丽那么和蔼。

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

她蓝色的衣衫松开，放出小蝙蝠和小猫头鹰。

Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

我多希望能相信温柔——

How I would like to believe in tenderness—

假人的脸，在烛光下显得柔和，

The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,

特为在我身上垂下，它温驯的眼睛。

Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

我已经坠落了好远。云朵在星辰表面

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering

绽放着蓝色的神秘的花朵。

Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.

在教堂内，圣人们都将是蓝色，

Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,

飘浮在他们纤细的脚上，在冰冷的条凳上方，

Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,

他们的手和脸因圣洁而僵硬。

Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.

月亮看不见这一切。她秃顶又狂野。

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

而紫杉的信息是黑色——漆黑与寂静。

And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence.