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160
é¨ç¹å»ç大å°ï¼å¾®è¯éï¼âæ们æ¯ä½ çæ家çå©åï¼æ¯äº²ï¼ç°å¨ä»å¤©ä¸å
å°ä½ è¿éæ¥äºãâ
The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered, --- We are thy homesick
children, mother, come back to thee from the heaven.
161
èç½å¥½è±¡è¦æé²ç¹ï¼å´æä½äºèèã
The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.
162
ç±æ
åï¼å½ä½ æéæ¿çç¹äº®äºççè¦ä¹ç¯èµ°æ¥æ¶ï¼æè½å¤çè§ä½ çè¸ï¼è
ä¸ä»¥ä½ 为幸ç¦ã
Love! When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand,
I can see your face and know you as bliss.
163
è¤ç«å¯¹å¤©ä¸çæ说éï¼âå¦è
è¯´ä½ çå
ææ»æä¸å¤©ä¼æ¶ççãâ
天ä¸çæä¸åçå®ã
The leaned say that your lights will one day be no more, said the
firefly to the stars.
The stars made no answer.
164
å¨é»æçå¾®å
éï¼æé£æ¸
æ¨çé¸å¿æ¥å°äºæçæ²é»çé¸å·¢éã
In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to
the nest of my silence.
165
ææ³æ è¿æçå¿ä¸ï¼å¦ä¸ç¾¤éé¸é£è¿å¤©ç©ºã
æå¬è§å®ä»¬é¼ç¿¼ä¹å£°äºã
Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of lucks in the sky.
I hear the voice of their wings.
166
æ²æ´«æ»å欢æ³ï¼æ²³æµçåå¨ï¼æ¯ä¸ä¸ºå®ä¾ç»æ°´æµçã
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.
167
ä¸ç以å®ççè¦åææ¥å»ï¼èè¦æ±æ声åæ¥é
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The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return
in songs.
168
åè¿«çæçï¼å°åºæ¯æçæ³è¦å¤åºççµéå¢ï¼è¿æ¯é£ä¸çççµéï¼æ²çæ
å¿çé¨ï¼æ³è¦è¿æ¥å¢ï¼
That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open,
or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?
169
ææ³ä»¥ä»èªå·±çè¯è¨åå
»å®èªå·±èæé¿èµ·æ¥äºã
Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.
170
æææå¿ä¹ç¢è½»è½»æµ¸å
¥è¿æ²é»ä¹æ¶å»ä¸ï¼å®ç满äºç±äºã
I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has
filled with love.
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