Every thing that is beautiful is eternal joy:
Its beauty increases day by day: it never perishes,
It never dies; it lasts forever
A secluded pavilion is reserved for us to sleep in,
full of sweet dreams, health and peaceful breathing.
In this way, every morning the next morning, we weave
gorgeous ribbons to tie ourselves to the world,
No matter the disappointment, frustration, or ruthlessness People lack
noble nature, no matter the sad years,
no matter the path full of danger and darkness in our search process: Yes, Despite all that,
some form of beauty will always lift
the dark curtain that hangs over our souls. Look at the sun, the moon,
and the ancient saplings that grow as shade shelters for the innocent sheep
; and like the daffodils
living with them The green world in between; and the clear stream
Create a cool shade for yourself
to protect yourself from the hot season; the shrubs in the forest,
are filled with musk roses Xiaohua:
And we imagine the great ancients
the magnificence of their destiny;
All the wonderful stories we hear or read:
p>
These all constitute an endless spring of immortality,
injected from the sky into our hearts.
Original text attached:
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A 2)bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every 3)morrow, are we 4)wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of 5)despondence, of the inhuman 6)dearth < /p>
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the 7)pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady 8)boon
For simple sheep; and such are 9)daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling 10)covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest 11)brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the 12)grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's 13)brink.