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But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own;
吾今絮絮念死亡，猙獰尸骨幽靈現(xiàn)，吾非僅憚其形駭，恍若吾與其同形；
It seems so like my own, because of the fasts I keep;
恍若吾與其同形，皆為幽步似如飛；
O God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!
啊，上帝！面包何以情堪傷，血肉兩茫茫！
"Work! work! work!" My labor never flags;
“干活！干活！再干活！”日夜勞作不停歇；
And what are its wages? A bed of straw, a crust of bread and rags,
薪酬何以僅草床，面包碎屑怎充饑，衣衫襤褸怎蔽體，
that shattered roof and this naked floor, a table, a broken chair and a wall so blank, my shadow I thank for sometimes falling there.
屋漏星稀地板裸，桌椅殘破徒四壁，對影流落成幾何。
"Work! work! work!" from weary chime to chime!
“干活！干活！再干活！”鐘兒聲聲催人急！
Work! work! work! as prisoners work for crime!
干活！干活！再干活！囚徒忙來為贖罪！
Band, and gusset, and seam, seam, and gusset, and band,
縫針上袖綁扎帶，反過來亦是一樣，
till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, as well as the weary hand.
直到心碎頭麻木，還有一雙疲累手。
"Work! work! work!" in the dull December light,
“干活！干活！再干活！”十二月里月光稀，
And work! work! work! when the weather is warm and bright;
干活！干活！再干活！只待天暖月明時(shí)；
While underneath the eaves the brooding swallows cling,
檐下雨燕忙抱窩，
as if to show me their sunny backs, and twit me with the spring.
唧唧喳喳撩心窩，揶吾不知春幾何。
