poet-Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack,the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people are exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel gram and daring;

    But O heart! heart! heart!

        O the bleeding drops of red,

            Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain!my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores are  crowding,

For you they call,they swaying mass,their eager faces turning;

    Here Captian! dear father!

        This arm beneath your head!

            It is some dream that on the deck,

                You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain dose not answer,his lips are pale and still,

My father doesn't feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound,its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

    Exult O shores, and O ring bells!

        But I with mournful tread,

            Walk the deck my captain lies,

                Fallen cold and dead.

“是的，我一点都不喜欢这一部分。”“这可是人们最欣赏的表演。”

“没错，这正是最糟糕的地方。”

“因为它没有艺术性？”

“不，不，确实没有艺术性可言。我的意思——因为它残忍。”

他微微一笑。“残忍？你的意思是对那个驼子而言吗？”

“我的意思——那个人当然一点也不在乎。毫无疑问，对他来说只是谋生的手段，就像骑手或者科伦宾一样。但是这事让人觉得很不开心。丢人，这是一个人的堕落。”

“他很可能不比他开始干这行时更堕落。我们大多数人都是堕落的，或在这方面，或在那方面。”

“不错，但是这——我敢说你会认为是个荒唐的偏见，但在我看来，一个人的肉体是圣洁的。我不喜欢看见拿它不当回事，使它变得丑陋不堪。”

“一个人的灵魂那？”他停下脚步，手扶堤岸的石栏杆站在那里，同时直盯着她。

“一个人的灵魂？”她重复了一遍，转而惊奇地望着他。

他突然伸出手，激动不已。

“你想过那个可怜的小丑也许也有灵魂——一个活生生，苦苦挣扎的人的灵魂，系在那个扭曲的身躯里，被迫为它所奴役吗？你对一切都以慈悲为怀——你可怜那个穿着傻瓜衣服，挂着铃铛的肉体——你可曾想过那个凄惨的灵魂，那个甚至没有五颜六色衣服遮掩赤裸在外的灵魂？想想它在众人的面前瑟瑟发抖，羞辱和苦难使它透不过气来——感受到鞭子一样的讥笑——他们的狂笑就像赤红的烙铁烧在裸露的皮肉上！想想它回过头去——在众人面前那样无依无靠——因为搭讪不愿压住它——因为岩石无心遮住它——忌妒那些能够逃进某个地洞藏身的老鼠；想起了一个灵魂已经麻木——想喊无声，欲哭无音——它必须忍受，忍受，再忍受。噢！瞧我在胡说八道！你究竟为何不笑出声来？你没有幽默感！”

Think you own whatever land you land on

Earth is just a dead thing you can claim

But I know every rock and tree and creature

Has a life ,has a spirit ,has a name

Think the only people who are people

Are the people who look and think like you

But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger

You learn things you never knew

You never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?

Or ask the grinning bobcat why he grinned

Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?

Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Come run the hidden pinetrails of the forest

Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth

Come roll in all the riches all around you

And for once never wonder what they're worth

The rainstorm and the rivers are my brothers

And the heron and the otter are my friends

And we are all connected to each other

In a circle in a hoop that never ends

How high does the sycamore grow

If you cut it down ,then yo'll never know

And you'll never hear the wolf cry

To the blue corn moon

Or whether we are whiter or or copper-skinned

We need to sing with

All the voices of mountains

To paint with all the colors of wind

You can own the Earth   

And still all you'll own is erath

Untill you can paint with

All the colors of the wind