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[散文佳作108篇(英汉.汉英对照)].乔慧等 全文

时间:2010-11-14 21:41:51  来源:  作者:

第一部分 汉译英
1. 丑石(An Ugly Stone)
2. 匆匆(Rush)
3. 冬夜(Winter Night)
4. 互助(Helping Each Other)
5. 黄昏(Dusk)
6. 盼头(Something to Lookl Forward to)
7. 媲美(Beauty)
8. 枪口(The Muzzles)
9. 鸲鹆(The Story of a Myna)
10. 铜镜(The Bronze Mirror)
11. 学校(The College)
12. 野草(Wild Grass)
13. 种梨(Planting a Pear Tree)
14. 哀互生(Mourning for Husheng)
15. 落花生(The Peanut)
16. 盲演员(A Blind Actor)
17. “孺子马” (An”Obedient Horse”)
18. 小麻雀(A Little Sparrow)
19. 雄辩症(A Case of Eloquence)
20. 大钱饺子(A Good-luck Dumpling)
21. 荷塘月色(Moonlight over the Lotus Pond)
22. 黄龙奇观(A View of Huangllong)
23. 枯叶蝴蝶(Lappet Butterfies)
24. 泡菜坛子(A pickle Pot)
25. 田水哗啦(The Irrigation Water Came Gurgling)
26. 我若为王(If I Be King)
27. 西式幽默(Western Humour)
28. 项脊轩志(Xiangjixuan)
29. 夜间来客(A Night Visitor——A True Story about a ”Celebrity”Being Interviewed)
30. 珍禽血雉(China‘s Native Pheasant)
31. 常胜的歌手(A Singer Who Always Wins)
32. 健忘的画眉(The Forgetful Song Thrush)
33. 可爱的南京(Nanjing the Beloved City)
34. 鲁迅先生记(In Memory of Mr.Lu Xun)
35. 苗族龙船节(The Miao Drangon-Boat Festival)
36. 秋天的怀念(Fond Memories of You)
37. 献你一束花(A Bouquet of Flowers for you)
38. 鸭巢围的夜(A Night at Mallard-Nest Village)
39. 玫瑰色的月亮(The Rosy Moon)
40. 内画壶《百子图》(Snuff Bottles with Pictures Inside)
41. 维护团结的人(A Man Upholding Unity)
42. 我有一个志愿(I Have a Dream)
43. 运动员的情操(Sportsmen‘s Values)
44. 神话世界九寨沟(Jiuzhaigou,China‘s Fairyland)
45. 生命的三分之一(One Third of Our Lifetime)
46. 我可能是天津人(I Might Have Come from Tianjin)
47. 五台名刹画沧桑(The famous Monastery Witnesses Vicissitudes)
48. 爱梦想的羞怯女孩(A Shy Dreamer)
49. 永久的憧憬和追求(My Lnging and yearning)
50. 老人和他的三个儿子(The Old Man and his three sons)
51. 乐山龙舟会多姿多彩(dragon-Boat Festival at Leshan)
52. 撷自那片芳洲的清供(An Offering from his Sweet homeland)
53. 三峡多奇景 妙笔夺开工(The Scenic Three Gorges Captured )
54. 初中国旅游可到哪些地方(Tips on Traveling to China the First Time)

第二部分 英译汉
1. A Ball to Roll Around(滚球)
2. A Boupquet for Miss Benson(送给卞老师的一束花)
3. A Boy and His Father Become Partners(父子伙伴情)
4. A Gift of Dreams(梦寐以求的礼物)
5. A Hard Day in the Kitchen(厨房里的一场闹刷)
6. A Nation of Hypochondriacs(一个疑病症患者的国度)
7. Are Books an Endangered Species? (书籍是即将灭绝的物种吗?)
8. A Sailor‘s Christmas Gift(一个海员的圣诞礼物)
9. A Tale of Two Smut Merchants(两上淫秽照片商的故事)
10. A Visit with the Folks(探访故亲)
11. Canadian Eskimo Lithographs(加拿大爱斯基摩人的石版画)
12. Divorce and Kids(离婚与孩子)
13. Doug Heir(杜格•埃厄)
14. Fame(声誉)
15. Felicia‘s Journey(费利西娅的旅行)
16. Genius Sacrificed for failure(为育庸才损英才)
17. Glories of the Storm(辉煌壮丽的暴风雨)
18. Han Suyin‘s China(韩素音笔下的中国)
19. Hate(仇恨)
20. How Should One Read a Book? (怎样读书?)
21. In Praie of the Humble Comma(小小逗号赞)
22. Integrity——From A Mother in Mannville(正直)
23. In the Pursuit of a Haunting and Timeless Truth(追寻一段永世难忘的史实)
24. Killer on Wings is Under Threat(飞翔的杀手正受到威胁)
25. Life in a Violin Case(琴匣子中的生趣)
26. Love Is Not like Merchandise(爱情不是商品)
27. Luck(好运气)
28. Mayhew(生活的道路)
29. My Averae Uncle(艾默大叔——一个普普通通的人)
30. My Father‘s Music(我父亲的音乐)
31. My Mother‘s Gift (母亲的礼物)
32. New Light Buld Offers Energy Efficiency(新型灯泡提高能效)
33. Of Studies(谈读书)
34. On Leadership(论领导)
35. On Cottages in General(农舍概述)
36. Over the Hill(开小差)
37. Promise of Bluebirds(蓝知更鸟的希望)
38. Stories on a Headboard(床头板上故事多)
39. Sunday(星期天)
40. The Blanket(一条毛毯)
41. The Colour of the Sky(天空的色彩)
42. The date Father Didn‘t Keep(父亲失约)
43. The Kiss(吻)
44. The Letter(家书)
45. The Little Boat That Sailed through Time(悠悠岁月小船情)
46. The Living Seas(富有生命的海洋)
47. The Roots of My Ambition(我的自强之源)
48. The song of the River(河之歌)
49. They Wanted Him Everywhere——Herbert von Karajan(1908-1989) (哪儿都要他)
50. Three Great Puffy Rolls(三个又大双暄的面包圈)
51. Trust(信任)
52. Why measure Life in Hearbeats? (何必以心跳定生死?)
53. Why the bones Break(骨折缘何而起)
54. Why Women Live Longer than Men(为什么女人经男人活得长)

丑石
贾平凹
我常常遗憾我家门前的那块丑石呢:它黑黝黝地卧在那里,牛似的模样;谁也不知道是什么时候留在这里的.谁也不去理会它。只是麦收时节,门前摊了麦子,奶奶总是要说:这块丑石,多碍地面哟,多时把它搬走吧。
于是,伯父家盖房,想以它垒山墙,但苦于它极不规则,没棱角儿,也没平面儿;用赘破开吧,又懒得花那么大气力,因为河滩并不甚远.随便去掬一块回来,哪一块也比它强。房盖起来,压铺台阶,伯父也没有看上它。有一年,来了一个石匠,为我家洗一台石磨,奶奶又说:用这块五石吧,省得从远处搬动。石匠看了看,摇着头,嫌它石质太细,也不采用。
它不像汉白玉那样的细腻,可以凿下刻字雕花,也不像大青石那样的光滑,可以供来院纱捶布;它静静地卧在那里,院边的槐荫没有庇孤它,花儿也不再在它身边生长。荒草便繁衍出来,枝蔓上下,慢慢地,竟锈上了绿苔、黑斑。我们这些做孩子的,也讨庆起它来,曾合伙要搬走它,但力气又不足;虽时时咒骂它,嫌弃它,也无可奈何,只好任它留在那里去了。
稍稍能安慰我们的,是在那石上有一个不大不小的坑凹儿,雨天就盛满了水。常常雨过三天了.地上已经于燥,那石凹里水儿还有,鸡儿便去那里渴饮。每每到了十五的夜晚,我们盼着满月出来,就爬到其上,翘望天边;奶奶总是要骂的,害怕我们摔下来。果然那一次就摔了下来,磕破了我的膝盖呢。
人都骂它是丑石,它真是丑得不能再丑的丑石了。
终有一日,村子里来了一个天文学家。他在我家门前路过,突然发现了这块石头,眼光立即就拉直了。他再没有走去,就住了下来;以后又来了好些人,说这是一块陨石,从天上落下来己经有二三百年了,是一件了不起的东西。不久便来了车,小心翼翼地将它运走了。
这使我们都很惊奇!这又怪又丑的石头,原来是天上的呢!它补过天,在天上发过热,闪过光,我们的先祖或许仰望过它,它给了他们光明、向往、憧憬:而它落下来了,在污土里,荒草里,一躺就是几百年了?!
奶奶说: “真看不出:它那么不一般,却怎么连墙也垒不成,台阶也垒不成呢?”
“它是太丑了。”天文学家说。
“真的,是太丑了。”
“可这正是它的美!”天文学家说,“它是以丑为美的。”
“以丑为美?”
“是的,丑到极处,便是美到极处。正因为它不是一般的顽石,当然不能去做墙,做台阶,不能去雕刻,捶布。它不是做这些小玩意儿的,所以常常就遭到一般世俗的讥讽。”
奶奶脸红了,孔也脸红了。
我感到自己的可耻,也感到了丑石的伟大;我甚至怨恨它这么多年竟会默默地忍受着这一切,而找又立即深深地感到它那种不属于误解、寂寞的生存的伟大。

 

 

 


An Ugly Stone
Jia Pingwa
I used to feel sorry for that ugly black piece of stone lying like an ox in front of our door; none knew when it was left there and none paid any attention to it, except at the time when wheat was harvested and my grandma, seeing the grains of wheat spread all over the ground in the front yard of the house, would grumble: "This ugly stone takes so much space. Move it away someday. "
Thus my uncle had wanted to use it for the gable when he was building a house, but he was troubled to find it of very irregular shape, with no edges nor corners, nor a flat plane on it. And he wouldn't bother to break it in half with a chisel because the river bank was nearby, where he could have easily fetched a much better stone instead. Even when my uncle was busy with the flight of steps leading to the new house he didn't take a fancy to the ugly stone. One year when a mason came by, we asked him to snake us a stone mill with it. As my grandma put it: "Why net take this one, so you worst have to fetch one from afar." But the arson took a look and shook his head; he wouldn't take it for it was of too fine a quality.
It was not like a fine piece of white marble on which words or flowers could be carved, nor like a smooth big bluish stone people used to wash their clothes on. The stone just lay there in silence, enjoying no shading front the pagoda trees by the yard, nor flowers growing around it. As a result weeds multiplied and stretched ail over it, their stems and tendrils gradually covered with dark green spots of moss. We children began to dislike the stone too, and would have taken it away if we had been strong enough; all we could do for the present was to leave it alone, despite our disgust or even curses.
The only thing that had interested us in the ugly stone was a little pit on top of it, which was filled with water on rainy days. Three days after a rainfall, usually, when the ground had become dry, there was still water in the pit, where chickens went to drink. And every month when it came to the evening of the 15th of lunar calendar, we would climb onto the stone, looking up at the sky, hoping to see the full moon come out from far away. And Granny would give us a scolding, afraid lest we should fall down--and sure enough, I fell down once to have my knee broken. So everybody condemned the stone: an ugly stone, as ugly as it could be.
Then one day an astronomer came to the village. He looked the stone square in the eye the moment he came across it. He didn't take his leave but decided to stay in our village. Quite a number of people came afterwards, saying the stone was a piece of aerolite which had fallen down from the sky two or three hundred years ago-what a wonder indeed! Pretty soon a truck carne, and carried it away carefully.
It gave us a great surprise! We had never expected that such a strange and ugly stone should have come from the sky! So it had once mended the sky, given out its heat and light there, and our ancestors should have looked up at it. It hard given them light, brought there hopes and expectations, and then it had fallen down to the earth, in the mud and among the weeds, lying there for hundreds of years!
My grandma said: "I never expected it should be so great! But why can't people build a wall or pave steps with it?"
"It's too ugly, the astronomer said.
"Sure, it's really so ugly.”
"But that's just where its beauty lies! " the astronomer said, "its beauty comes from its ugliness. "
"Beauty from ugliness?"
"Yes. When something becomes the ugliest, it turns out the most beautiful indeed.
The stone is not an ordinary piece of insensate stone, it shouldn't be used to build a wall or pave the steps, to carve words or flowers or to wash clothes on. It's not the material for those petty common things, and no wonder it's ridiculed often by people with petty common views.
My grandma became blushed, and so did l.
I feel shame while I feel the greatness of the ugly stone; I have even complained about it having pocketed silently all it had experienced for so many years, but again I am struck by the greatness that lies in its lonely unyielding existence of being misunderstood by people.
匆匆
朱自清
燕子去了,有再来的时候;杨柳枯了,有再青的时候;桃花谢了,有再开的时候。但是,聪明的,你告诉我,我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢?——是有人偷了他们罢:那是谁?又藏在何处呢?是他们自己逃走了罢;现在又到了哪里呢?
我不知道他们咨给了我多少日子;但我的手确乎是渐渐空虚了。在默默里算着,八千多日子已经从我手中溜去;像针尖上一滴水滴在大海里,我的日子滴在时间的流里,没有声音,也没有影子。我不禁头渗鸿而泪潜潜了。
去的尽管去了,来的尽管来着,去来的中间,又怎样地匆匆呢?早上我起来的时候,小屋里射进两三方斜斜的太阳。太阳他有脚啊,轻轻悄悄地挪移了;我也茫茫然跟着旋转。于是—洗手的时候,日子从水盆里过去;吃饭的时候,日子从饭碗里过去;默默时,便从凝然的双跟前过去。我觉察他去的匆匆了,伸出手遮挽时,他又从遮挽着的手边过去,天黑时,我躺在床上,他便伶伶俐俐地从我身上跨过,从我脚边飞去了。等我睁开眼和太阳再见,这算又溜走了一日。我掩着面叹息。但是新来的日子的影儿又开始在叹息里闪过了。
在逃去如飞的日子里,在千门万户的世界里的我能做些什么呢?只有徘徊罢了,只有匆匆罢了;公在八千多日的匆匆里,除徘徊外,又剩些什么呢?过去的口子如轻烟被微风吹散了,如薄雾,被初阳蒸融了:我留着些什么痕迹呢?我何曾留着像游丝样的痕迹呢?我赤裸裸来到这世界,转眼间也将赤裸裸的回去罢?但不能平的,为什么偏要白白走这一遭啊?
你聪明的,告诉我,我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢?
1922.3.28
Rush
Zhu Ziqing
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? -If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could ire hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?
I do not know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me .Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small mom in two or three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; 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 daydreaming gaze as I reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but be 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 fight wind, or evaporated as mist by the left behind any gossamer morning sun. What traces have I left behind me? Have I eve left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to this world, stark nakedness; am I to go hack, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should 1 have made such a trip for nothing!
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
March 28, 1922
冬夜
艾芜
冬天一个冰寒的晚上。在寂宽的马路旁边,疏枝交横的树下,候着最后一辆搭客汽车的,只我一人。虽然不远的墙边,也蹲有一团黑影,但他却是伸手讨钱的。马路两旁,远远近近都立着灯窗明灿的别墅,向暗蓝的天空静静地微笑着。在马路仁是冷冰冰的,还刮着一阵阵猛厉的风。留在枝头的一两片枯叶,也不时发出破碎的哭声。
那蹲着的黑影,接了我的一枚铜板,就高兴地站起来向我搭话,一面抱怨着天气:“真冷呀,再没有比这里更冷了!……先生,你说是不是?”
看见他并不是个讨厌的老头子,便也高兴地说道:“乡下怕更要冷些吧?”
“不,不。”他接着咳嗽起来,要吐出的话,塞在喉管里了。
我说:“为什么?你看见一下霜,乡下的房屋和田野,便在早上白了起来,街上却一点也看不见。”
他捶了几下胸口之后,兴奋地接着说道:“是的,是的……乡下冷,你往人家门前的稻草堆上一钻就暖了哪……这街上,哼,鬼地方!……还有那些山里呵,比乡下更冷哩,咳,那才好哪!火烧一大堆,大大小小一家人,闹热呀!……”
接着他便说到壮年之日,在南方那些山中冬夜走路的事情。一个人的漂泊生活,我是喜欢打听的,同时车又没有驰来.便怂思他说了下去。他说晚上在那些山里,只要你是一个正派的人,就可以朝灯火人家一直走去,迎着犬声,敞开树阴下的柴门,大胆地闯进。对着火堆周围的人们,不管他男的女的,用
两手向他们两肩头一分,就把你带着风寒露湿的身子,轻轻地放了进去。烧山芋和热茶的香味,便一下子扑人你的鼻子。抬头看,四周闪着微笑的眼睛,欢迎着,毫没有怪你唐突的神情。你刚开口说由哪儿来的时候,一杯很热的浓茶,就递在你的下巴边上。老太婆盼咐她的孙女,快把火拨大些,多添点子柴,说是客人要烘吸他的身子;你暖和了,还不觉得疲倦的话,你可以摸摸小孩子的下巴,拧拧他们的脸蛋,做一点奇怪的样子,给他们嬉笑。年轻的妈妈,一高兴了,便会怂恿他的孩子把拿着要吃的烧山芋,分开一半,放在你这位客人的手上。如果你要在他们家过夜,他们的招待,就更来得殷勤些。倘若歇一会,暖
暖身子,还要朝前赶路,一出柴门,还可听见一片欢送的声音:“转来时,请来玩呀!”老头子讲着讲着,给冷风一吹,便又咳嗽起来,我听得冷都忘记了,突然老头子忘形地拉着我问道:
“先生,这到底是什么原因哪?……这里的人家,火堆一定烧得多的,看窗子多么亮哪……他们为什么不准一个异乡人进去烤烤手哩?”
搭客汽车从远处轰轰地驰来了,我赶忙摆他的手,高声说道:
“因为他们是文明的人,不像那些山里的……”
再跳进通明的汽车里,蓦地离开他了。但远的南国山中,小小的灯火人家里面,那些丰美的醉人的温暖,却留在我的冬夜的胸中了。 Winter Night
Ai Wu
It was a cold winter night. The street was deserted. I stood alone under a tree with an entanglement of bare branches overhead, waiting for the last bus to arrive. A few paces off in the darkness there was a shadowy figure squatting against the wall, but tie turned out to be a tramp. The street was lined with fine houses, their illuminated windows beaming quietly towards the dark blue sky. It was icy cold with a gust of strong wired howling around. A couple of withered leaves, still clinging to the branches, rustled mournfully from time to tithe. The shadowy figure, taking a copper coin from me with thanks, straightened up to attempt a conversation with me.
"It's really cold here," he complained. "It couldn't be colder anywhere else ....What do you think, sir?"
Seeing that he was not too nasty an old man, I readily responded: "It must he colder in the country, I'm afraid.”
"No, no," he disagreed and began to cough, his words stuck up in his throat.
"Why?" I asked. "In the country when it frosts, you always find the roofs and the fields turning white in the morning, but you don't see that here on the streets.”
He patted his chest to ease off his coughing and went on excitedly: "True, true... it's cold in the country, but when you get into somebody's straw stack, you are warm again at once.... But this street, humm, what a terrible place! In the mountains, it's even colder, but when they have a fire in the house with the whole family sitting around it, wow, it's heaven!"
Then he began to relate to me the adventures of his younger days-travelling alone in winter nights through the mountains in the south. As I was interested in stories about wanderers and since the bus had not arrived yet, I encouraged him to go on.
"When you end up in the mountains at night," he said, "and if you are a decent person, you can always turn to the place where there is a light flickering and a dog harking. You push open the bramble gate under the shade and walk in without hesitation. Part the people, men or women, around the fire with your hands and you bring yourself -- a cold and wet man with dew-among them. Immediately your nose is filled with the aroma of hot tea and roast sweet potatoes. When you look round you see friendly faces smiling at you; there is no hint of anything like blame for what elsewhere might be considered as brusqueness. Scarcely have you begun to tell them where you come from when a cup of hot and strong tea is handed over to you. Grandma will tell her granddaughter to feed the fire with more wood, saying that the guest needs more beat to warm up. When you are recovered from cold and fatigue, you tend to tease the baby, stroking his chin, giving a gentle pinch to his cheek or making a face to provoke him to gurgle. He delighted young mother will encourage her baby to share his sweet potato with you. The baby will then break it in two and thrust one half into your hand. If you intend to stay overnight, you will be entertained with all possible hospitality. If you've just dropped in to warm up and then go on your way, they will see you off at the gate, saying 'Please do drop in on us again on your way back, ' "
In the middle of his babbling another gust of wind brushed by and the old man began to cough again. I was so intrigued by his story that I did not feel the cold any more. Suddenly he grabbed my hand, forgetting that we were strangers, and asked:
"Sir, could you tell me why the people here even do not allow a countryman in to warm his hands? They must've got bigger fires in their houses- Look at their bright windows. . . "
The bus came rumbling up. Withdrawing my hand from his, I answered at the top of my voice
"Because they are more civilized than the mountain people. . . "
With that I jumped onto the brightly-lit bus which started moving on, leaving the old man behind. But the little houses with flickering oil lamps in the remote mountains and the intoxicating warmth and friendliness of their inhabitants left a deep impress on my memory.
互助
王蒙
L君跻身文坛,盖有年矣,但总是红不起来,颇感寂寞。于是,他找到了各种关系,以盛宴重礼把著名的评论家J君招待了一次。J君有感于其情之盛,慨然允诺说:“现在他们对你太冷落了,就是不公平!我一定要写一篇推荐你的作品的文章,登到大报上,你的作品的优点是……”
L君不等I君说完,慌忙摆手摇头,他说:“千万不必!千万不必!我只乞求您写一篇义正词严的文章把我批一个狗血淋头!积数十年之经验,我深知凡被您批了的,都可以风行全国,名震环球!而您也可以获得另一方面的美誉和利益,那才叫相反相成,相得益彰!”
Helping Each Other
Wang Meng
Mr. L. had been a member of the literary circles for years without attracting any public attention. He felt rather deserted, and so he managed through various personal connections to invite Mr. J., a famous literary critic, to an elaborate dinner besides presenting him with expensive gifts. Mr. J. was quite moved by Mr. L.’s hospitality and promised right away, "It's not fair that you have been so ignored! I must write an article for a key newspaper to recommend your works. The merits of your works are...
Mr. L. hastily cut in, shaking his head and waving his hands," No! No! I only beg you to write a very severe criticism against me. From my years of experience, I have come to the conclusion that all articles you criticize mill become popular not only in our country but also in the world. Meanwhile, you gain greater fame and interests through your criticism. Ibis is indeed `extremes meet' and hill only end up with mutual help and benefit!"
黄昏
茅盾
侮是深蓝色的,说不上光滑;排了队的小浪开正步走,数不清有多少,喊着口令“一,二—— 一”似的,朝喇叭口的海塘来了。挤到沙滩边,噗澌! —— 队伍解散,喷着愤怒的白沫。然而后一排又赶着扑上来了。
三只五只的白鸥轻轻地掠过,翅膀扑着波浪—一 一点一点躁怒起来的波浪。
风在掌号。冲锋号!小波浪跳跃着,每一个像个大眼睛,闪射着金光。满海全是金眼睛,全在跳跃二海塘下空隆空隆地腾起了喊杀。
而这些海的跳跃着的金眼睛重重叠叠一排接一排,一排怒似一排,一排比一排浓溢着血色的赤,连到天边,成为缉金色的一抹。这上头,半轮火红的夕阳!
半边天烧红了,重甸甸地压在夕阳的光头上。
愤怒地挣扎的夕阳似乎在说:
哦,哦!我已经尽今天的历史的使命,我已经走完了今天的路程了!现在,现在,是我的休息时间到了,是我的死期到了!哦,哦!却也是我的新生期快开始了!明天.从海的那一头,我将威武地升起来,给你们光明,给你们温暖,给你们快乐!
呼——呼——
风带着永远不会死的太阳的宣言到全世界。高的喜马拉雅山的最高峰,汪洋的太平洋,阴郁的古老的小村落,银的白光冰凝了的都市—— 一切,一切,夕阳都喷上了一口血焰!

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