I am exposed … cut by bitter and poisoned hail,
Steeped amid honeyed morphine … my windpipe squeezed in the fakes of death,
Let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.
—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, “Song of Myself”
我被暴露…被痛苦和毒化的冰雹割伤，
沉浸在蜜糖吗啡中……我的气管挤在死亡的假象里，
让我们再次感受谜题的困惑，
我们称之为存在。
-沃尔特·惠特曼，《草叶集》 ，“我自己的松”（谷歌翻译仅供参考）