其他
鲁文·达里奥诗选
1
The tree is happy because it is scarcely sentient;
the hard rock is happier still it feels nothing:
there is no pain as great as being alive
no burden heavier than that of conscious life.
To be and to know nothing and to lack a way
and the dread of having been and future terrors...
And the sure terror of being dead tomorrow
and to suffer all through life and through the darkness
and through what we do not know and hardly suspect...
And the flesh that temps us with bunches of cool grapes
and the tomb that awaits us with its funeral sprays