So it is midnight, and all
\nThe angels of ordinary day gone,
\nThe abiding absence between day and day
\nCome like true and only rain
\nComes instant, eternal, again:
As though an air had opened without sound
\nIn which all things are sanctified,
\nIn which they are at prayer—
\nThe drunken man in his stupor,
\nThe madman’s lucid shrinking circle;
As though all things shone perfectly,
\nPerfected in self-discrepancy:
\nThe widow wedded to her grief,
\nThe hangman haloed in remorse—
\nI should not rearrange a leaf,
No more than wish to lighten stones
\nOr still the sea where it still roars—
\nHere every grief requires its grief,
\nHere every longing thing is lit
\nLike darkness at an altar.
As long as truest night is long,
\nLet no discordant wing
\nCorrupt these sorrows into song.
于是到了午夜，一切
\n平日的天使都已离去，
\n日与日间持久的空缺
\n如真实而唯一的雨到来
\n此刻，永恒，再次到来：
仿佛空气无声地敞开
\n在其中一切事物都变得神圣
\n都在祈祷——
\n醉汉在他的恍惚中，
\n疯子清醒并收缩的圆环；
仿佛一切事物都完美地闪烁，
\n在自我的差异中完满：
\n寡妇嫁给她的忧愁，
\n刽子手于悔恨中披上光环——
\n我不应重新摆放一片叶子，
也不应希望变轻石头
\n或静止仍轰鸣的海——
\n此处每一哀伤都要求其哀伤
\n此处每一向往之物都被照亮
\n如黑暗在祭坛之上。
只要最真实的夜还漫长，
\n就不要让不和的羽翼
\n令这些悲痛堕落成歌唱。