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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，狰狞尸骨幽灵现，吾非仅惮其形骇，恍若吾与其同形；
It seems so like my own, because of the fasts I keep;
恍若吾与其同形，皆为幽步似如飞；
O God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!
啊，上帝！面包何以情堪伤，血肉两茫茫！
"Work! work! work!" My labor never flags;
“干活！干活！再干活！”日夜劳作不停歇；
And what are its wages? A bed of straw, a crust of bread and rags,
薪酬何以仅草床，面包碎屑怎充饥，衣衫褴褛怎蔽体，
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，桌椅残破徒四壁，对影流落成几何。
"Work! work! work!" from weary chime to chime!
“干活！干活！再干活！”钟儿声声催人急！
Work! work! work! as prisoners work for crime!
干活！干活！再干活！囚徒忙来为赎罪！
Band, and gusset, and seam, seam, and gusset, and band,
缝针上袖绑扎带，反过来亦是一样，
till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, as well as the weary hand.
直到心碎头麻木，还有一双疲累手。
"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！只待天暖月明时；
While underneath the eaves the brooding swallows cling,
檐下雨燕忙抱窝，
as if to show me their sunny backs, and twit me with the spring.
唧唧喳喳撩心窝，揶吾不知春几何。
