那是一个梦。在昏睡的阴暗中，
正是沉闷的午夜时分，罗伦索
站在她床榻边流泪：森林的坟墓
损毁了他光泽的头发，在生前
那头发的光芒可以射向太阳，如今他的嘴唇
已变得冰冷，他那害相思的声音
不再像琵琶声般动听，他那塞满泥的耳朵
被他的泪水划出了一道泥泞的槽沟。

It was a vision. — In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch’s foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
Had marr’d his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
Had made a miry channel for his tears.