英文诗歌鉴赏：至于死亡

And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to

　　try to alarm me.

　　To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes,

　　I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,

　　I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,

　　And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.

　　And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not

　　offend me,

　　I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,

　　I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.

　　And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,

　　(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)

　　I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,

　　O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions,

　　If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?

　　Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,

　　Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,

　　Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay

　　in the muck,

　　Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.