A beautiful English poem about life: sailing to Byzantium
That's not the country of old people. Young people
Hugging each other, the birds are in the tree.
-The dying generation.-In their songs,
Salmon waterfall, mackerel-dense ocean,
Fish, meat, or poultry are recommended all summer.
Life or death.
Immersed in music, everyone was ignored.
Monument to immortal wisdom.
An old man is just a trivial thing,
A tattered coat is on a stick unless.
Soul clapping and singing, singing loudly.
Every rag in mortal clothes,
There is no singing school, only study.
Its own magnificent monument;
So I traveled across the ocean to come here.
Go to the holy city of Byzantium.
Oh, saints standing in the flame of God.
Like the golden mosaic on the wall,
From the sacred flame, spinning in rotation,
Become a master singer of my soul.
Consume my heart; Full of desire
Tied to a dying animal
It doesn't know what it is; Call me.
Into the eternal scam.
Once divorced from nature, I will never take it.
My body shape comes from anything natural,
But this form, made by a Greek goldsmith,
Hammer gold and gold enamel
Keep the sleepy emperor awake;
Or stand on a golden branch and sing.
The nobles and ladies of Byzantium
Past, past, coming.
That's not a country for the elderly. young people
Hug each other; The dying generation,
Birds in the tree are singing;
Fish waterfall, the sea is full of blue and white fish,
Fish, animals or birds praise all summer.
Everything that exists in life and death.
Addicted to the music of the senses, everyone neglected.
An eternal monument to reason.
An aging old man is just a waste,
It was a tattered coat propped on a stick,
Unless the soul clapped its hands and sang, for its sake.
Every crack in the skin sings louder;
But there is no school to teach singing, only
Study the glory recorded on the monument,
So I crossed the ocean to come here.
The sacred castle of Byzantium.
Oh, smart guy! Standing in the flame of God,
Like the golden eagle on the mural,
Coming out of the divine fire, spinning in the sky,
Please be the singing teacher of my soul.
Burning my heart, it's tied to a
Dying flesh, corroded by desire,
I don't know what it used to be; Please ... as soon as possible
Collect me into the eternal artistic arrangement.
Once I'm divorced from nature, I won't be divorced from it.
Any natural object has my shape,
As long as the Greek goldsmith used gold glaze
Hammer gold,
Supply the sleepy emperor to stay awake;
Or sing on a golden branch
Everything past, present and future.
The nobles and ladies of Byzantium
Beautiful English poem about life: Because I can't stop to die.
Because I can't stop to die.
Because I can't stop to die.
He stopped to pick me up.
He stopped to meet me politely.
There are only two of us in the carriage.
There are only two of us in the carriage.
Sit with "eternal life"
What else is there? Immortality? The same seat
We slowly, he knows that there is no need to be fast.
We walked slowly, and he knew there was no need to hurry.
I also put down my work
I also put down my work.
And leisure, return.
And leisure in return.
His manners
His manners
We passed by the school, which coincided with the recess.
When we passed the school, it coincided with the recess.
The children are noisy on the playground.
The children are making noise on the playground.
We passed a field gazing at the grain.
We walked through the rice fields where we stared.
We missed the sunset.
We missed the sunset.
Maybe you should say that he passed us by.
Maybe it should be said that he surpassed us.
Dew and cold make me tremble.
Dew makes me tremble and cold.
Because my clothes are very thin.
Because my clothes are just gauze.
My cloak, only tulle
My shawl is just a silk screen.
We stopped in front of a house, which
We stopped in front of a house.
As a uplift of the ground
As if it were a raised ground.
An almost invisible roof
The roof, almost invisible
The eaves below the ground
Under the eaves, below the ground
Since then, for centuries,
Centuries have passed since then.
It seems to shorten the day.
But it seems shorter than that day.
That day, I first guessed
That day, I first guessed.
Horse, go to eternity
Horsehead, go to eternity
A beautiful English poem about life: Life is like a century theater.
The world theater we are in,
My love sits like a bystander.
Look at me, all the beauty contests,
Cover up my confused mind in various ways.
Sometimes, when the happy moment comes, I will be very happy.
And Mills Lake in "Mask" to play a comedy:
Soon after, when my happiness turned into sadness,
I cried and turned my sadness into tragedy.
However, she kept looking at me,
Don't take pleasure in my pain, and don't regret my cleverness;
But when I laugh, she laughs at me, when I cry.
She smiled and her heart became harder and harder.
So what can move her? If it's not merth or mone,
She is not a woman, but an unconscious stone.
In this world theater where we have been,
My love is like an audience sitting and watching.
She watched me perform on the stage,
My acting is poor, so I have to try to cover it up.
I have impulses from time to time, and I love them.
Just like the happy mask in comedy covers the face;
Then the comedy of mourning and crying turned into tragedy,
Happiness instantly turned into sadness.
However, when she looks at me, her eyes are always dull.
My joys and sorrows have nothing to do with her;
I cry, she laughs, I laugh, she laughs,
Her cold heart is simply chilling.
She is indifferent to pain and happiness,
She is not a woman, but a stone without feelings.