The abandoned campus,
被摈弃的校园，
empty brick buildings and early June
空空的砖瓦房当六月初
when you came to visit me;
你来看望我;
crossing the states midway,
穿行于州际途中，
the straggled belts of little roads;
束带般的小路伸延，
hitchhiking with your portable typewriter.
提着你的便携打字机搭车。
The campus, an academy of trees,
校园，一个树林的学院，
under which some hand, the wind 8217;s I guess,
在树下有些，我想是风的手，
had scattered the pale light
已经消散了千百
of thousands of spring beauties,
春之美神的苍白光线，
petals stained with pink veins;
花瓣染上桃红色的血管;
secret, blooming for themselves.
秘密的，为它们自己开放。
We sat among them.
我们坐在它们中间。
Your long fingers, thin body,
你那修长的手指，清瘦的身材，
and long bones of improbable genius;
和未必会是天才的长骨;
some scattered gene as Kafka must have had.
一些象卡夫卡肯定有的分散的基因。
Your deep voice, this passing dust of miracles.
你深沉的嗓音，通行奇妙尘间。
That simple that was myself, half conscious,
单纯如我，神志半醒，
as though each moment was a page
似乎每一瞬间都是词语出现之页;
where words appeared; the bent hammer of the type
弯型字锤
struck against the moving ribbon.
撞击移动的色带
The light air, the restless leaves;
清淡的空气，烦躁的树叶;
the ripple of time warped by our longing.
我们的渴望翘曲起时间的微澜。
There, as if we were painted
在那里，好象我们被
by some unknown impressionist.
几个无名印象派画家绘入了画面。