Bonus: "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats
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我喝了一杯酒,一分钟过去,和沉默的语言沉沉下来。这不是因为你开心的恨,而是因为你太开心了。

that thou light-winged dried of the treesin some melodious plot of beeching greenand shadows numberlesssingest of summerin full-throated easeoh for a draught of vintagethat has been cooled a long age in the deep-dwarfed earthtasting of floraand the country greendownsand provencal sunand sunburnt mirth

for a beaker full of the warm southfull of the true the blushful hippocrenewith beaded bubbles winking at the brimand purple-stained mouthsthat I might drink and leave the world unseenand with thee fade away into the forest dimfade far awaydissolve and quite forgetwhat thou amongst the leaves hast never known

the wearinessthe feverand the fret herewhen men sitand hear each other groanwhere palsy shakes a few sad last gray hairswhere youth grows paleand specter thinand dieswhat but to thinkis to be full of sorrowand lead an eyed despairwhere beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes

or new love pine and then be young tomorrow away awayfor I will fly to thee not charioted by Bacchus and his partsbut on the vellus wings of poesythough the dull brain perplexes and retardsalready with thee tender is the nightand happily the queen moon is on her throneclustered around by all her starry face

But here there is no light, save what from heaven is with the breezes blown through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, but in embalmed darkness guests each sweet, wherewithin the seasonable mouth indels the grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild.

White Hawthorn and the Pastoral Eglantine, fast-fading violets covered up in leaves,and Midmay's eldest child, the calming musk rose, full of dewy wine, the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.Darkly, I listen, and for many a time, I have been half in love with ease for death,call him soft names in many a music rhyme.

to take into the air my quiet breath now more than ever seems it rich to dieto seize upon the midnight with no pain while thou artpulling forth thy soul abroad in such anecstasystill wast thou seenand i have ears in vainto thy high requiem become a sort

There was no spawn for death immortal birdNo hungry generation shred thee downThe voice I hear this passing night was heardIn ancient days by emperors and clownsPerhaps the self-same songThat found a path through the sad heart of RuthWhen sick for homeShe stood in tearsAmid the alien corn

the same that oft timeshas charmed magic casementsopening on the foam of perilous seasin fairy lands forlornforlornthe very world is like a bellto tour me back from thee to my soul's selfadieuthe fancy cannot treat so wellas she is famed to dodeceiving healthadieuadieu thy plaintive anthem fades

passed the near meadows over the steel screenthe hillside and now it is buried deepin the next valley gladeswas it a vision or a waking dreamflat is that musicdo i wake or sleep