这就是诗人，是他
从寻常意义中
提炼不凡之道——
从凋零在门前
惯见的落花中
炼制精纯的玫瑰油——
令我们惊愕
并非我们先来获得——
一幅幅图景，诗人——
是他，为我们铺展——
使我们与之相较——
身处无尽的贫穷——
他的所有，不知不觉——
被夺走少许，却无损害——
他是他自己的财富——
超越时光——
This was a Poet—It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings—
And Attar so immense
From the familiar species
That perished by the Door—
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it—before—
Of Pictures, the Discloser—
The Poet—it is He—
Entitles Us—by Contrast—
To ceaseless Poverty—
Of portion—so unconscious—
The Robbing—could not harm—
Himself—to Him—a Fortune—
Exterior—to Time—