The Last Leaf
Oliver Wendell Holmes
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said--
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago--
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
最后的叶片
奥利弗·温德尔·霍姆斯
他曾从门前经过，
我在一旁观望；
如今，石板路又哒哒作响，
他蹒跚走来，
手里拄着拐杖。
人们说他当时年轻力壮，
时光的剪刀虽有锐利锋芒，
尚未削去他的青春模样；
周围的人们有口皆碑，
满城数他最为善良。
如今，他却在街头流浪，
看着别人的面孔，憔悴忧伤；
虚弱的脑袋，不断摇晃，
似乎在说；
“他们已不在世上”
他曾热吻过的姑娘，
就在这墓中安葬；
一块生苔的石碑，立在墓旁，
刻着他所爱慕的芳名，
岁月悠长。
我年迈的祖母久已过世，
话音还在耳边回荡；
说他长着高高的鼻梁，
说他的面颊像一朵玫瑰，
在雪中绽放。
可是现在，
他的鼻子干瘪瘦长，
贴近下巴像纤细的棍棒；
弯腰驼背，
沙哑的笑声带着不尽的凄凉。
坐着笑看他的模样，
一种负罪的感觉在我心底隐藏；
可那破旧的尖顶小帽，
还有马裤，所有的衣装，
实在是奇形怪状！
假如我的生命十分久长，
能够成为最后的叶片挂在春天的树上，
让人们冲着我悬挂的残枝发笑吧，
就像我现在这样，
尽管那残枝久已被人们淡忘！