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Among the beautiful pictures That hang on Memory's wall,
在那些美轮美奂的画中间挂在记忆墙上的，
Is one of a dim old forest, That seemeth best of all;
是古老的森林一抹幽暗，似乎在其中画工最善；
Not for its gnarled oaks olden, Dark with the mistletoe;
不是因为那株长了瘤节的老橡树，和着槲寄生的暗淡；
Not for the violets golden, That sprinkle the vale below;
不是因为金色紫罗兰，在下面的山谷闪闪发光；
Not for the milk-white lilies, That lean from the fragrant hedge,
不是因为奶白色的百合，倚着芬芳的树篱，
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, And stealing their golden edge;
在阳光下整天卖弄风情，偷了它们金色边缘；
Not for the vines on the upland,
不是因为高地上的葡萄树，
Where the bright red berries rest,
那里还有鲜红的浆果，
Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip, It seemeth to me the best.
并非粉色，亦非苍白，芳香的黄花九轮草，在我看来是最好。
I once had a little brother, With eyes that were dark and deep;
曾有一个小兄弟，一双黑幽幽的眼睛呦；
In the lap of that dim old forest, He lieth in peace asleep:
在幽暗的古老森林洼地，静静躺着睡着了；
Light as the down of the thistle,
光明如树下的蓟，
Free as the winds that blow,
自由似吹拂而过的风，
We roved there the beautiful summers,
我们在美丽的夏日漂泊，
The summers of long ago;
很久以前的夏日；
But his feet on the hills grew weary,
可是他踏上山丘的腿却越来越衰弱，
And, one of the autumn eves, I made for my little brother, A bed of the yellow leaves.
一个秋天的夜晚，我为小兄弟的床上，洒下枯叶。
Sweetly his pale arms folded My neck in a meek embrace,
他那苍白的双臂惬意地将我的脖颈揽进温顺的怀抱，
As the light of immortal beauty Silently covered his face;
这时不朽的美的光芒静谧地洒在他的脸上；
And when the arrows of sunset Lodged in the tree tops bright,
当落日的箭矢嵌进光闪闪的树顶，
He fell, in his saintlike beauty, Asleep by the gates of light.
他倒下了，在他圣人一般的美中倚着光芒之门睡去了。
Therefore, of all the pictures That hang on Memory's wall,
就这样，挂在记忆墙上的所有图画，
The one of the dim old forest Seemeth the best of all.
那张的森林一抹幽暗，似乎画工最善。
