First of all, introduce a little information about this poem. What is the name of the poem you mentioned?
Secondly, the Chinese translation of this poem seems to have only the paragraph you intercepted, and it is a pity that the biography of Lincoln has translated such a short paragraph. Baidu doesn't even have an encyclopedia of the author Captain William Lennox (there is a Captain William Lennox in Transformers, which is embarrassing), which shows that the poet and this poem are not well-known in China.
Finally, I attach the original English poem to you, which is convenient for you to search for this poem. If your English level is not bad, you can read it directly.
mortality rate
Captain William Lennox
Oh! Why should the mortal spirit be proud?
Like a fleeting meteor, a cloud
A flash of lightning, the interruption of waves
From birth to death, he rested in the grave.
The leaves of oak and willow will wither,
Be scattered everywhere and put together;
Young and old, humble and noble,
Will turn to dust and sleep together.
Babies cared for and loved by mothers;
A mother who proves the baby's feelings;
Husband, mother and baby who bless,-
Everyone, everyone, went to their resting place.
Girls' cheeks, foreheads, eyes,
Shining beauty and happiness, her victory;
And the memories of those who loved and praised her,
All erased from the minds of the living.
The king held the scepter in his hand,
The forehead of a priest wearing a bishop's crown,
The eye of the sage, the heart of the brave,
Hidden in the depths of the grave.
The fate of farmers is sowing and harvesting.
The shepherd climbed the steep hillside with his goat.
The beggar looking for bread everywhere,
Gone like grass we stepped on.
A saint who enjoys communication in heaven,
A sinner who dares to remain unforgivable,
Smart and stupid, guilty and just,
Quietly bury their bones in the dust.
Therefore, people are like flowers or weeds.
Withering makes others succeed;
So the crowd came-even those we saw,
Repeat every story that is often told.
Because we are the same as our ancestors;
We saw what our parents had seen;
We drink the same stream and look at the same sun.
Follow the path taken by our fathers.
What we are thinking, our parents will also think;
We shrink from death, and so will our father;
Our persistent life, they will be persistent; -
But it flew past us, just like a bird spreading its wings.
They loved-but we can't start the story;
They laugh at people, but the heart of the proud is cold;
They are sad, but they will not wail from their sleep;
They are happy-but their happy tongues are silent.
They are dead-ah, they are dead; -What we're doing,
Walking on the grass on their foreheads,
They took their own residence as a temporary residence.
Meet what happened to them on the pilgrimage.
Yeah! Hope and depression, happiness and pain,
Mixed by sunlight and rain;
Smiles and tears, songs and elegies,
Still follow, like a flood.
This is a blink of an eye, this is a breath of air.
From the prosperity of health to the pallor of death,
From gilded salons to coffins and shroud.
Oh! Why should the mortal spirit be proud? The last chapter is the one you saw in Lincoln's biography. )
By the way, I personally have to thank you for letting me read this good poem in this way. Haha, I also collect it.