The mountain remains unmoved its seeming defeat by the mist.
While the rose said to the sun, "I shall ever remember thee," her petals fell to the dust.
———Rabindranath Tagore
看上去这山会被云雾打败，却始终保持不动。
当玫瑰对太阳说：“我会永远记得你”时，她的花瓣就飘散在尘埃中。
喜欢泰戈尔的诗，不仅因为那些优美文字带给人的奇妙情感，还因着诗人在字里行间流露的智慧与情怀。那些带着豁达与释然的句子，高山仰止的境界，逆境处的希望，失意时的乐观，都让人惭愧于自身的浅薄。
在诗人眼中，世界的美好被无限放大，充满自由的力量、爱的力量。从清晨到黄昏，从黑夜到黎明，从寒冬到盛夏，从早春到深秋。无论是高山还是深海，无论是繁星还是流萤，在诗人笔下，那些自然中陶醉着的岁月静好，伴我们度过一段悠然的下午时光。
Hills are the earth's gesture of despair for the unreachable.
Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me, O Beauty, I am grateful.
The world knows that the few are more than the many.
Let not my love be a burden on you, my friend, know that it pays itself.
山是大地对那不可触碰者所表现的失望的姿态。
虽然花中的荆棘刺伤了我，美呀，依然使我感激。
世界知道，少数比多数更多。
我的朋友，不要让我的爱成为你的负担，要知道它付出了它自己。
Dawn plays her lute before the gate of darkness, and is connected to vanish when the sun comes out.
Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.
The dew-drop knows the sun only within its own tiny orb.
Forlorn thoughts from the forsaken hives of all ages, swarming in the air, hum round my heart and seek my voice.
黎明在黑暗的门前弹着她的琵琶，当太阳出来时她便消失不见。
当美在一面完美的镜子面前看到了自己的面容，她就是真理的微笑。
露珠所知道的太阳就是它在自己的小眼睛里看到的那个。
绝望的思想，从被所有时代遗弃了的蜂巢里出来，飞满在空中，盘旋在我的心间低吟，并找寻我的声音。
The desert is imprisoned in the wall of its unbounded barrenness.
In the thrill of little leaves I see the air's invisible dance, and in their glimmering the secret heart-beats of the sky.
You are like a flowering tree, amazed when I praise you for your gifts.
The earth's scarifical fire flames up in her trees, scattering sparks in flowers.
沙漠被束缚在它自己的无边荒瘠的墙壁里。
在细叶的颤抖中我看见了空气的隐形舞蹈，还在它们散发的微光中看见了天空秘密的心跳。
你像一棵鲜花怒放的树，当我赞美你的天才时使你感到惊奇。
她的树林里升腾起大地献祭的火焰，花丛中到处是迸散的火花。
Forests, the clouds of earth, hold up to the sky their silence, and clouds from above come down in resonant showers.
The world speaks to me in pictures, my soul answers in music.
The sky tells its beads all night on the countless stars in memory of the sun.
The darkness of night, like pain, is dumb, the darkness of dawn, like peace, is silent.
森林，大地上空的云朵，把它们的静默献给天空，云降骤雨作为共鸣。
世界用图画对我说话，我用音乐回答。
天空为了纪念太阳，整晚对它的露珠说着无数的星星。
夜的黑暗犹如伤痛，是哑言的，黎明的黑暗犹如和平，是缄默的。
Pride engraves his frowns in stones, love offers her surrender in flowers.
The obsequious brush curtails truth in deference to the canvas which is narrow.
The hill in its longing for the far-away sky wishes to be like the cloud with its endless urge of seeking.
To justify their own spilling of ink they spell the day as night.
骄傲在石头上刻下他的蹙眉，爱情在花朵上献出她的降服。
殷勤的画笔顺从窄小的画布，使真理打了折扣。
当小山渴望遥远的天空时，甘愿做那受驱赶的云朵。
为了要证明他们自己的泼墨是对的，他们把白天写成黑夜。
Profit smiles when the good is profitable.
In its swelling pride the bubble doubts the truth of the sea, and laughs and brusts into emptiness.
Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it.
My clouds, sorrowing in the dark, forget that they themselves have hidden the sun.
当善良可以产生利润时，利润就对善良微笑。
在膨胀的骄傲中，泡沫对海洋的真理产生疑虑，狂笑一声化为虚无。
爱情是一种无止境的神秘，因为没有任何事物可以解释它。
我的云在黑暗中膨胀，忘记了它们自己遮蔽了太阳。
Man discovers his own wealth when God comes to ask gifts of him.
You leave your memory as a flame to my lonely lamp of scparation.
I came to offer thee a flower, but thou must have all my garden, it is thine.
The picture--a memory of light treasured by the shadow.
当上帝向人类来要礼物时，人们发现了自己的财富。
你把你的记忆当作一枚火焰留在我孤独的别离之灯里。
我来献给你一朵花，但你却要拥有我的一整座花园。都给你吧。
这幅画——光明的记忆被阴影收藏着。
It is easy to make faces at the sun, he is exposed by his own light in all directions.
Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is loved.
History slowly smothers its truth, but hastily struggles to revive it in the terrible penance of pain.
My work is rewarded in daily wages, I wait for my final value in love.
最容易的就是对太阳作鬼脸，从各方面看，他都显露在自己的光芒里。
即使将爱情说出来也仍是一件秘密，因为只有相爱的人才知道他是被爱着的。
历史慢慢地使它的真理窒息，但又在痛苦的可怕忏悔中轻易地拼命去使它获得新生。
我的工作每天都会有工资作为报酬，我却在爱情里等待我最后的价值。
怀着浅浅的感激，去诠释夏花的绚烂与秋叶的静美，去体会生的玲珑与死的从容，去见识宇宙的广袤，去聆听自然的声息。
无论是博大与深邃，还是渺小与细微；无论是热烈地绽放，还是安静地隐藏，穷其一生，经历过漫长的征程，不求万事通达，但愿雅意不负。