We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.

For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street,
Or warm torn elbow coverts.

We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!

And yet these fine collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.

The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.

1926

卓别林式

哈特·克兰

我们柔顺地做出调整，
感领这般随遇的安慰
像存入
滑溜且太阔大的口袋。

可是我们仍能爱这世界：找到
阶上一只饥饿的小猫，心知
险恶的街衢外也有隐蔽处给它回护，
或絮袖的臂弯可以裹暖。

我们将回避，借最后一抹傻笑
调弄着那逃不掉的拇指指向的厄运
与缓搓着指向我们那皱褶的食指，
面对迟钝的目光我们装得多无知
又是多么诧异！

如此巧妙的仆倒，不算是欺骗，倒跟
玩杂耍，把柔韧的手杖急旋差似；
我们的丧礼，还算不上事业。
我们能规避你们甚至人世，只除这善心：
谁还来咎责我们若善心能长存。

游戏迫出傻笑；但我们曾看见
月照陋巷把空垃圾箱
变成一圣杯的笑，
于欢乐声与寻觅中
也曾听见一只小猫在旷野的鸣叫。

1926