我的信！一堆堆死沉沉的纸，苍白又无声，
My letters! all dead paper, ... mute and white!
可是它们又象具有生命、颤动在
And yet they seem alive and quivering
我拿不稳的手内--是那发抖的手
Against my tremulous hands while loose the string
解开丝带，让它们今晚散满在
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
我膝上。这封说：他多盼望有个机会，
This said, ... he wished to have me in his sight
能作为朋友，见一见我。这一封又订了
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
春天里一个日子，来见我，跟我
To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing,
握握手--平常的事，我可哭了！
Yet I wept for it! -- this, ... the paper's light ...
这封说（不多几个字）：“亲，我爱你！”
Said, _Dear I love thee_; and I sank and quailed
而我却惶恐得象上帝的未来在轰击
As if God's future thundered on my past.
我的过去。这封说：“我属于你！”那墨迹，
This said, _I am thine_ -- and so its ink has paled
紧贴在我悸跳的心头，久了，褪了色。
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
而这封。。。爱啊，你的言词有什么神妙，
And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availed
假如这里吐露的，我敢把它再说！
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!