The Last Leaf

　　Oliver Wendell Holmes

　　I saw him once before,

　　As he passed by the door,

　　And again

　　The pavement stones resound,

　　As he totters o'er the ground

　　With his cane.

　　They say that in his prime,

　　Ere the pruning-knife of Time

　　Cut him down,

　　Not a better man was found

　　By the Crier on his round

　　Through the town.

　　But now he walks the streets,

　　And he looks at all he meets

　　Sad and wan,

　　And he shakes his feeble head,

　　That it seems as if he said,

　　"They are gone!"

　　The mossy marbles rest

　　On the lips that he has prest

　　In their bloom,

　　And the names he loved to hear

　　Have been carved for many a year

　　On the tomb.

　　My grandmamma has said--

　　Poor old lady, she is dead

　　Long ago--

　　That he had a Roman nose,

　　And his cheek was like a rose

　　In the snow;

　　But now his nose is thin,

　　And it rests upon his chin

　　Like a staff,

　　And a crook is in his back,

　　And a melancholy crack

　　In his laugh.

　　I know it is a sin

　　For me to sit and grin

　　At him here;

　　But the old three-cornered hat,

　　And the breeches, and all that,

　　Are so queer!

　　And if I should live to be

　　The last leaf upon the tree

　　In the spring,

　　Let them smile, as I do now,

　　At the old forsaken bough

　　Where I cling.

　　最后的叶片

　　奥利弗·温德尔·霍姆斯

　　他曾从门前经过，

　　我在一旁观望；

　　如今，石板路又哒哒作响，

　　他蹒跚走来，

　　手里拄着拐杖。

　　人们说他当时年轻力壮，

　　时光的剪刀虽有锐利锋芒，

　　尚未削去他的青春模样；

　　周围的人们有口皆碑，

　　满城数他最为善良。

　　如今，他却在街头流浪，

　　看着别人的面孔，憔悴忧伤；

　　虚弱的脑袋，不断摇晃，

　　似乎在说；

　　“他们已不在世上”

　　他曾热吻过的姑娘，

　　就在这墓中安葬；

　　一块生苔的石碑，立在墓旁，

　　刻着他所爱慕的芳名，

　　岁月悠长。

　　我年迈的祖母久已过世，

　　话音还在耳边回荡；

　　说他长着高高的鼻梁，

　　说他的面颊像一朵玫瑰，

　　在雪中绽放。

　　可是现在，

　　他的鼻子干瘪瘦长，

　　贴近下巴像纤细的棍棒；

　　弯腰驼背，

　　沙哑的笑声带着不尽的凄凉。

　　坐着笑看他的模样，

　　一种负罪的感觉在我心底隐藏；

　　可那破旧的尖顶小帽，

　　还有马裤，所有的衣装，

　　实在是奇形怪状！

　　假如我的生命十分久长，

　　能够成为最后的叶片挂在春天的树上，

　　让人们冲着我悬挂的残枝发笑吧，

　　就像我现在这样，

　　尽管那残枝久已被人们淡忘！