我为美而死，却还不能
适应坟墓
一个为真理而死的人
正躺在我的隔壁——
他轻声地问，“你为何而死？”
“为了美。”我回答——
“我，为真理，它们本是一体——
我们，是同胞。”他说——
就这样，像亲人，重逢在夜里——
我们隔墙而谈——
直到青苔爬上我们的嘴唇——
覆盖我们的姓名——
I died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room—
He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied—
“And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are”, He said—
And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—