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.
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:
【英语六级晨读美文100篇:Rush(10)】相关文章:
最新
2017-01-16
2016-10-21
2016-10-08
2016-10-08
2016-10-08
2016-10-08