那些初放的玫瑰，把我帶回理智。

　　一切暴怒，在房后長滿水藻的池塘

　　被我放下水，像紙船一樣。

　　起初蒼白，進而桃粉，后來血紅。

　　修剪它們，你可能很殘忍。

　　可能很殘忍，而我需要這種殘忍。

　　頂著紅尖尖的翠枝

　　這些絕不是茨冠。

　　既不預兆什么，也不暗示什么。

　　一旦給養，它們便會生出枝丫：

　　一個夏季能長兩茬。

　　一茬有紫羅蘭和果香，另一茬

　　燃起烈焰，草坪上一簇翻滾的唇瓣。

　　My first roses brought me to my senses.

　　All my furies, I launched them like paper boats

　　in the algaed pond behind my house.

　　First they were pale, then peach and blood red.

　　You could be merciless trimming them back.

　　You could be merciless and I needed that.

　　Emerald green with crimson tips,

　　these were no crowns of thorns.

　　They would not portend nor intimate.

　　But if you fed them they’d branch out:

　　two generations in a single summer.

　　One had a scent of fruit & violet, the other

　　blazed up, a flotilla of lips on the lawn.