Seeking foreign poems (original+translation)

She walks in the beautiful light, george gordon byron, she walks in the beautiful night, like a cloudless sky and a starry sky. In her appearance and eyes, everything is the intersection of darkness and light; With such soft light, heaven refuses a gorgeous day. One more shadow and one less ray of sunshine will damage the nameless elegance of every dark tree, or gently illuminate her face, where thoughts express how pure and lovely their homes are quietly and sweetly. In that quiet sky, the people who browse are so gentle, so calm and eloquent. The smile that wins glory tells the passage of good times, and a peaceful heart is with everyone under a heart where love is pure. George? 6? 1 Gordon? 6? 1 Byron She walks in the beautiful light-she walks in the beautiful light, like Wan Li is cloudless and starry at night; The most beautiful colors of light and shade are presented in her appearance and eyes: the dazzling daytime is just too bright, which is softer and darker than that light. Increasing or decreasing the light and shade will damage this unspeakable beauty. Beauty fluctuates in her dark hair, or sheds a faint light on her face. Quiet thoughts show that it is pure and precious. Oh, that forehead, that bright cheek, so gentle, calm, affectionate, that charming smile, that radiant face all show a kind life: her heart is satisfied with everything in the world, and her heart is full of true love! When you are old, gray-haired, sleepy and dozing by the fire, please take down this book and read it slowly, dreaming of the gentle eyes your eyes once had and their deep shadows; How many people love your joyful and elegant moments and love your beauty with false or true love; But there is someone who loves your pilgrim soul and the sadness on your aging face; Bend down by the burning fireplace and whisper sadly, how love escapes, how to pace on the mountains overhead, and how to hide your face among the stars. When you are old, white-haired, sleepy and dozing by the fire, please take this poem down and read it slowly, recalling the softness of your past eyes and their past shadows; How many people love the beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity of adore you when you are young and happy? Only one person loves your pilgrim soul and the painful wrinkles on your aging face. He hung his head and whispered sadly about the disappearance of love by the red fire. On the mountain overhead, he walked slowly, hiding his face among a group of stars.