My mistress’s eyes 《爱人的眼睛》 My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun, Coral is far more red than her lip’s red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight, Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, That music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go . My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet, by heaven, I think my love is rare. As any she belied with false compare.
My mistress’s eyes 《爱人的眼睛》 My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun, Coral is far more red than her lip’s red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight, Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, That music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go . My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet, by heaven, I think my love is rare. As any she belied with false compare.
哑了
有优点，也有缺点 本质上是一个清醒的恋爱脑 我喜欢主动点的 很容易被拿下 当然我也会主动
想听什么，我讲给你听
Death Be Not Proud by John Donne Death be not proud, though some have called thee. Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be. Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow. And soonest our best men with thee do go. Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men. And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell. And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well. And better than thy stroak; why swell’st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally. And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
A dedication to my wife 《致妻子》 To whom I owe the leaping delight, That quickens my senses in our waking time. And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleeping time, the breathing in unison. Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other, Who think the same thoughts without need of speech, And babble the same speech without need of meaning. No peevish winter wind shall chill, No sullen tropic sun shall wither, The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only. But this dedication is for others to read: These are private words addressed to you in public.
Three Months After 《三个月后》 To want to disappear is different from wanting to die. To disappear and to not have to explain to anyone, to talk to anyone. To move to somewhere where no one knows you. Where you don’t have to look at a single laughing face. To elope with this grief who is not your enemy; This grief who maybe now is your best friend; This grief who is your husband. The thing you curl into every night, Falling asleep in its arms. Who wakes up early, To make you your cold thankless breakfast. To go to that place where every surface is a blade. A sharp thing on which to hang your sorry flesh. To feel something, Anything, Other than this.
The House on Mango Street 芒果街上的小屋 Everybody in our family has different hair. My Papa’s hair is like a broom, all up in the air. My hair is lazy, it never obeys barrettes or bands. And Kiki, Who is the youngest , has hair like fur. But my mother’s hair, my mother’s hair, Like little rosettes, Like little candy circles all curly and pretty. Sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you , Holding you and you feel safe, Is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, Is the smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin. And you sleep near her, The rain outside falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain, And Mama’s hair that smells like bread.
我希望有个如你一般的人 如山间清爽的风 如古城温暖的光 从清晨，到夜晚 从山野，到书房 一切都没有关系 只要最后是你就好 一个人，终将拥有另一个人 对你点点头，贯彻未来 数遍生命的公路牌 如果你要提前下车 请别推醒装睡的我 这样我可以装睡到终点 假装不知道你已经离开
桃之夭夭 灼灼其华 南有嘉木 不可休思
Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May. And summer’s lease hath all too short a date, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d. And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d, But thy eternal summer shall not fade. Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest. Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade. When in eternal lines to time thou growest. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
I’d Pick More Daisies 我会采更多的雏菊 If I had my life to live over, I’d try and make more mistakes next time. I would relax,I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things I would take seriously. I would be crazier. I would take more trips, I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets. If I had to do it over again, I would go places and do things, And travel lighter than I have. If I had my life to live over, I would start bare-footed earlier. In the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would play hooky more, I wouldn’t make such good grades except by accident. I would ride on more merry-go -rounds. I’d pick more daisies.
任何人都不可能把自己的欲望，想法和痛苦不折不扣地表达出来；人类的语言就像一口破锅，我们想敲出悦耳的声音，感动星宿，却只引得狗熊跳舞。 —《包法利夫人》
The More Loving One Looking up at the stars, I know quite well. That, for all they care, I can go to hell. But on earth indifference is the least. We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn. With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be. Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am. Of stars that do not give a damn. I cannot, now I see them, say. I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die. I should learn to look at an empty sky. And feel its total dark sublime. Though this might take me a little time.
Love and Friendship 《爱情和友谊》 Love is like the wild rose-briar. Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms. But which will bloom most constantly? The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring. Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again. And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now. And deck thee with the holly’s sheen. That when December blights thy brow. He may still leave thy garland green.
Success by Emily Dickinson Success is counted sweetest, By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar, Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host, Who took the flag today. Can tell the definition, So clear, of victory. As he, defeated, dying, On-whose forbideen ear. The distant strains of triumph, Break, agonized and clear.
Sand Dunes Sea waves are green and wet. But up from where they die. Rise others vaster yet. And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land. To come at the fisher town. And bury in solid sand. The man she could not drown. She may know cove and cape. But she does not know mankind. If by any change of shape. She hopes to cut off mind. Men left her a ship to sink. They can leave her a hut as well. And be but more free to think. For the one more cast-off shell.
但是太阳， 它每时每刻都是夕阳也都是旭日。 当它熄灭着走下山去收尽苍凉残照之际， 正是它在另一面燃烧着爬上山巅布散烈烈朝辉之时。那一天， 我也将沉静着走下山去，扶着我的拐杖。 有一天， 在某一处山洼里，势必会跑上来一个欢蹦的孩子， 抱着他的玩具。
