最长的旅行
我旅行的时间很长，旅途也是很长的。
天刚破晓，我就驱车起行，穿遍广漠的世界，在许多星球之上，留下辙痕。
离你最近的地方，路途最远，最简单的音调，需要最艰苦的练习。
旅客要在每个生人门口敲叩，才能敲到自己的家门，人要在外面到处漂流，最后才能走到最深的内殿。
我的眼睛向空阔处四望，最后才合上眼说：“你原来在这里！”
这句问话和呼唤“呵，在哪儿呢？”融化在千股的泪泉里，和你保证的回答“我在这里！”的洪流，一同泛滥了全世界。

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art thou!'
The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!'

在世界的尽头相遇
在清晓的密语中，我们约定了同去泛舟，世界上没有一个人知道我们这无目的无终止的遨游。
在无边的海洋上，在你静听的微笑中，我的歌唱抑扬成调，像海波一般的自由，不受字句的束缚。
时间还没有到吗？你还有工作要做吗？看罢，暮色已经笼罩海岸，苍茫里海鸟已群飞归巢。
谁知道什么时候可以解开链索，这只船会像落日的余光，消融在黑夜之中呢？

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?

三月风吹的一天

我在路边行走，也不知道为什么，时已过午，竹枝在风中簌簌作响。
横斜的影子伸臂拖住流光的双足。
布谷鸟都唱倦了。
我在路边行走，也不知道为什么。
低垂的树荫盖住水边的茅屋。
有人在忙着工作，她的钏镯在一角放出音乐。
我在茅屋前面站着，我不知道为什么。
好几年前，三月风吹的一天，春天倦慵地低语，芒果花落在地上。
浪花跳起掠过立在渡头街沿上的铜瓶。
我想着三月风吹的这一天，我不知道为什么。
阴影更深，牛群归栏。
冷落在牧场上日色苍白，村人在河边待渡。
我缓步回去，我不知道为什么。

I was walking by the road，I do not know why，when the noonday was past and bamboo branches rustled in the wind.
The prone shadows with their outstretched arms clung to the feet of the hurrying light.
The koels were weary of their songs.
I was walking by the road，I do not know why.
The hut by the side of the water is shaded by an overhanging tree.
Some one was busy with her work，and her bangles made music in the corner.
I stood before this hut，I know not why.
The narrow winding road crosses many a mustard field，and many a mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the village and the market at the river landing place.
I stopped by this but，I do not know why.
Years age it was a day of breezy March when the murmur if the spring was languorous，and mango blossoms were dropping on the dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked the brass vessel that stood on the landing step.
I think of that day of breezy March，I do not know why.
Shadows are deepening and cattle returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely meadows，and the village are waiting for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly  return upon my steps，I do not know why.