Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? - If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?
燕子去了，有再來的時候;楊柳枯了，有再青的時候;桃花謝了，有再開的時候。但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復返呢?--是有人偷了他們罷：那是誰?又藏在何處呢?是他們自己逃走了：現在又到了哪里呢?
I dont know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
我不知道他們給了我多少日子;但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了。在默默里算著，八千多日子已經從我手中溜去;象針尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在時間的流里，沒有聲音也沒有影子。我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了。
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus--the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal, and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.
去的盡管去了，來的盡管來著，去來的中間，又怎樣的匆匆呢?早上我起來的時候，小屋里射進兩三方斜斜的太陽。太陽他有腳啊，輕輕悄悄地挪移了;我也茫茫然跟著旋轉。于是--洗手的時候，日子從水盆里過去;吃飯的時候，日子從飯碗里過去;默默時，便從凝然的雙眼前過去。我覺察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽時，他又從遮挽著的手邊過去，天黑時，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地從我身邊垮過，從我腳邊飛去了。等我睜開眼和太陽再見，這算又溜走了一日。我掩著面嘆息。但是新來的日子的影兒又開始在嘆息里閃過了。
What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to the world, stark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing!
在逃去如飛的日子里，在千門萬戶的世界里的我能做些什么呢?只有徘徊罷了，只有匆匆罷了;在八千多日的匆匆里，除徘徊外，又剩些什么呢?過去的日子如輕煙卻被微風吹散了，如薄霧，被初陽蒸融了;我留著些什么痕跡呢?我何曾留著象游絲樣的痕跡呢?我赤裸裸來到這世界，轉眼間也將赤裸裸地回去罷?但不能平的，為什么偏要白白走這一遭啊?
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
你聰明的，告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復返呢?
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