我的信!一堆堆死沉沉的纸，苍白又无声，
My letters! all dead paper, ... mute and white! 可是它们又象具有生命、颤动在 And yet they seem alive and quivering 我拿不稳的手内--是那发抖的手
Against my tremulous hands while loose the string 解开丝带，让它们今晚散满在
And let them drop down on my knee to-night. 我膝上。这封说：他多盼望有个机会， This said, ... he wished to have me in his sight 能作为朋友，见一见我。这一封又订了 Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring 春天里一个日子，来见我，跟我
To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing, 握握手--平常的事，我可哭了!
Yet I wept for it! -- this, ... the paper's light ... 这封说(不多几个字)：“亲，我爱你!” Said, _Dear I love thee_; and I sank and quailed 而我却惶恐得象上帝的未来在轰击 As if God's future thundered on my past. 我的过去。这封说：“我属于你!”那墨迹， This said, _I am thine_ -- and so its ink has paled 紧贴在我悸跳的心头，久了，褪了色。 With lying at my heart that beat too fast. 而这封。。。爱啊，你的言词有什么神妙， And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availed 假如这里吐露的，我敢把它再说! If, what this said, I dared repeat at last! 推荐：每日一诗(1.29):后宫词 每日一诗(2.8):Things to be thankful for
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