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【猎影】哪位大神帮翻译下 Auguries of Innocence   To see a world in a grain of sand   And a heaven in a wild flower,   Hold infinity in the palm of your hand   And eternity in an hour.   A robin redbreast in a cage   Puts all heaven in a rage.   A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons   Shudders hell through all its regions.   A dog starved at his master's gate   Predicts the ruin of the state.   A horse misused upon the road   Calls to heaven for human blood.   Each outcry of the hunted hare   A fibre from the brain does tear.   A skylark wounded in the wing,   A cherubim does cease to sing.   The game-cock clipped and armed for fight   Does the rising sun affright.   Every wolf's and lion's howl   Raises from hell a human soul.   The wild deer wandering here and there   Keeps the human soul from care.   The lamb misused breeds public strife,   And yet forgives the butcher's knife.   The bat that flits at close of eve   Has left the brain that won't believe.   The owl that calls upon the night   Speaks the unbeliever's fright.   He who shall hurt the little wren   Shall never be beloved by men.   He who the ox to wrath has moved   Shall never be by woman loved.   The wanton boy that kills the fly   Shall feel the spider's enmity.   He who torments the chafer's sprite   Weaves a bower in endless night.   The caterpillar on the leaf   Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.   Kill not the moth nor butterfly,   For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.   He who shall train the horse to war   Shall never pass the polar bar.   The beggar's dog and widow's cat,   Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.   The gnat that sings his summer's song   Poison gets fro***ander's tongue.   The poison of the snake and newt   Is the sweat of Envy's foot.   The poison of the honey-bee   Is the artist's jealousy.   The prince's robes and beggar's rags   Are toadstools on the miser's bags.   A truth that's told with bad intent   Beats all the lies you can invent.   It is right it should be so:   Man was made for joy and woe;   And when this we rightly know   Through the world we safely go.   Joy and woe are woven fine,   A clothing for the soul divine.   Under every grief and pine   Runs a joy with silken twine.   The babe is more than swaddling bands,   Throughout all these human lands;   Tools were made and born were hands,   Every farmer understands.   Every tear from every eye   Becomes a babe in eternity;   This is caught by females bright   And returned to its own delight.   The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar   Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.   The babe that weeps the rod beneath   Writes Revenge! in realms of death.   The beggar's rags fluttering in air   Does to rags the heavens tear.   The soldier armed with sword and gun   Palsied strikes the summer's sun.   The poor man's farthing is worth more   Than all the gold on Afric's shore.   One mite wrung from the labourer's hands   Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,   Or if protected from on high   Does that whole nation sell and buy.   He who mocks the infant's faith   Shall be mocked in age and death.   He who shall teach the child to doubt   The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.   He who respects the infant's faith   Triumphs over hell and death.   The child's toys and the old man's reasons   Are the fruits of the two seasons.   The questioner who sits so sly   Shall never know how to reply.   He who replies to words of doubt   Doth put the light of knowledge out.   The strongest poison ever known   Came from Caesar's laurel crown.   Nought can deform the human race   Like to the armour's iron brace.   When gold and gems adorn the plough   To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.   A riddle or the cricket's cry   Is to doubt a fit reply.   The emmet's inch and eagle's mile   Make lame philosophy to smile.   He who doubts from what he sees   Will ne'er believe, do what you please.   If the sun and moon should doubt,   They'd immediately go out.   To be in a passion you good may do,   But no good if a passion is in you.   The whore and gambler, by the state   Licensed, build that nation's fate.   The harlot's cry from street to street   Shall weave old England's winding sheet.   The winner's shout, the loser's curse,   Dance before dead England's hearse.   Every night and every morn   Some to misery are born.   Every morn and every night   Some are born to sweet delight.   Some are born to sweet delight,   Some are born to endless night.   We are led to believe a lie   When we see not through the eye   Which was born in a night to perish in a night,   When the soul slept in beams of light.   God appears, and God is light   To those poor souls who dwell in night,   But does a human form display   To those who dwell in realms of day.
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