The moon
By P.B. Shelley
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain
The moon arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.
月
像一位瘦弱苍白的濒死女子
蒙着轻罗面纱,凭迷糊脑子里
虚妄朦胧而病态的胡思乱想引领着,
步态蹒跚地走出闺房
月亮升起在黢黑的东方天边,
是白蒙蒙寒碜一片。
