英译中作品：   

It may be that I am a pessimist. For spring it is, not autumn, that makes me sad. Spring has always rightly been identified with youth, and the sorrows of youth are poignant and bitter. The daffodils which challenge so proudly and splendidly the boisterous March winds are soon shriveled and defeated, limply wrinkling to remind us of the inevitable ravages of time. The world is urgent with bursting life, with the wild exciting beauty of youth, but it is an impetuous beauty of the senses racing impatiently into the florid and surfeited luxury of summer. Here is no comfort and fulfillment, only passionate creation of transitory delight.

我是个伤春却不悲秋的人，是否因为我已习惯了苍凉的心境？春天既象征着生机与萌发，却也暗藏着酸楚与苦涩。比如在雨横风狂的三月，高贵的黄水仙卓然玉立，傲然不屈。可惜，它最后还是无计留春，软绵绵的身子刻满了道道深纹。自然界的万事万物无不在警醒世人：任何事物都是“偶尔成章”，终将消逝湮没，成为匆匆的过客。春天的生命，在青涩的悸动和张扬的挥洒之中，迫不及待地奔向绚烂之极的盛夏。因此，青春的美学仅仅是稍纵即逝的激情，让人无从安适。

Autumn in contrast imposes serenity. The heat and dryness of summer have been transformed to a warm contented loveliness. Even the uncertain summer of England, so often a succession of damp and chilly days, may mellow into a golden September. Mornings have a tang of exhilaration and the evening sun sets redly as a smoke-grey mist softens the outlines of trees and houses. The early chill currents of approaching winter mingle with the lingering warmth of summer so that on dry days the air becomes alive, with the freshness of a sun-dried garden after a summer shower. Living becomes glorious.

相反，秋天却安静祥和。夏的燥热，在此季蜕变为饱蘸爱意的温馨。即便是英格兰潮湿冷郁、反复无常的天气，也能迎来纯金色的九月。清新的晨间，万物踊动，活泼欢悦；垂暮的傍晚，烟霭迷蒙、屋舍依稀。冷风裹挟着初冬的来讯、渗透着夏日的余温，幻化成一场盛夏般的瓢泼骤雨。那刚在日头下焦躁的花园，经过一回洗礼，更显熠熠生辉。

And the world soaks in colour. Not the primary colours of spring, brittle or delicate, the reds, yellows and blues of audacious or self-effacing flowers. Autumn takes all the colours of spring and blends and softens them richly to intense shades of purple, crimson, bronze, amber and mahogany, displayed either tapestry-wise, side by side, or merged in rich new tones. The trees are resplendent in copper and gold, while cornstacks crouching above the stubble gleam deep yellow in sunlight. Green oblongs defined by hedges flecked with scarlet berries contrast with neatly-furrowed ploughlands. And moorland is spread with a royal massed embroidery of purple heather banked among radiant gorse.

秋日将大地浸染、给万物润色。在春天，极目所见的无非是色彩鲜亮、浓妆艳抹的花朵，大红色、鲜黄色、正蓝色……精致却纤弱、明丽却稚嫩。与此不同，秋景则如陈酿的美酒，将春色调和醇化，积淀出深沉的底蕴、成熟的魅力。紫色、绯红、青铜、琥珀、赤褐……这些色彩有时如同绣帷般的罗列铺排，有时则交融成全新色彩。比如，淡然的秋木和田间的玉米垛满载着灿烂的金辉。在见方的围栏中，鲜红的莓果调皮地参缀在盎然的绿意之中；不远处，犁沟纵横、纹路分明的耕田正在静谧中积蓄着养分。沼泽里，紫色石南与荆豆花丛相互交织，如同云锦一般的斑斓华丽。

Spring displays the noisy, often shallow moods of adolescence. Autumn moods are those of maturity, deeper and more intense. A grave mist-softened morning of reflection is followed within hours by a Valkyrie world of screaming twilight when elemental winds tear withered leaves from branches, rock and strip the shivering forest and raise rolling mountains on dark seas. The wind passes and the billowing clouds condense into rain, which falls with quiet persistence, filling the hardened cart-ruts in country lanes, flooding streams over sodden meadows and emulsifying the fallen leaves. Blue patches widen between the sun-lined clouds and soon the glossy bare twigs are brilliant in rain-washed sunshine.

春天是青涩的少年，喧闹而肤浅。秋天则是成熟的壮年，深邃而醇厚。某个秋日清晨，浓雾隐去了白日的光华。在静静等待中，忽而天地变色，深林战栗；狂风卷地，枯叶纷坠；巨浪排空，潮流汹涌。随后狂风稍歇，满城的乌云化为骤雨倾泻而下。洒豆般的雨滴跳荡在阡陌的辙印里，化成溪流涌出了青青的牧草地。等到风住雨收，只见日光初露、层云渐散、旻天开朗。枝杈在晴光下莹莹闪烁，果真是“一番洗清秋”。

Indoors, as the evenings draw in, lamps are lit and the fire crackles more brightly as early frosts clear the skies and brittle silver sword-points of stars pierce the night-velvet of the sky. There is hot buttered toast for tea and then records for the quiet evening: a Scarlatti sonata, a Sibelius symphony, a Beethoven violin concerto, or books that carry their readers farther than any summer journey. Sleep and contented dreams come easily in autumn. Freed from the demands and excitements of spring, we have time to hear and feel.

等到夕阳下山，早霜初下，夜空静谧得宛如止水澄波。天上星辰好似通透的水晶和青莹的剑尖，在天鹅绒般的苍穹上闪闪发光。蜗居屋内的我，看着摇曳的昏灯、听着噼啪的炉火，惬意万分。忽而兴之所至，沏一壶热茶，配着温热酥软的黄油吐司，欣赏着斯卡拉蒂的奏鸣曲、西贝柳斯的交响乐抑或是贝多芬的小提琴协奏曲。偶尔也会翻开书本，让思绪神游远方，那是夏日旅行远远到不了的地方。睡意袭来，轻轻闭上双眼就进入了甜美的梦乡。脱离了春的躁动、夏的激越，我们洗尽铅华、归于平淡，和同着万物的气息、静听着时空的转换。

When the intricate patterns of branches again thread the sky and the winds veer to east and north, we are deeply aware that the death of Nature is close at hand. The birds will huddle in ruffled feathers, shelterless in icy gales, and many will die unprotected; countless animals and insects will freeze or starve while we relax in comfortable homes. Yet these deaths are a necessary part of Nature’s self-renewal and the spring that glimmers on the far side of the dreary night of winter has the enchantment of hope. Hope is delusive, and the new spring will not live up to expectations: it will bring cold, wind and rain, and the sickly tiredness that accompanies the end of winter. Autumn promises the ideal spring.

当木叶脱尽、秃枝纵横；寒意渐浓、北风横行时，寂寥的冬日已朝我们缓缓走来。无处可躲的鸟儿将在刺骨寒风中紧紧蜷缩、彼此依偎，最后在无奈中悄然死去。在我们畅享家庭的温馨时，不计其数的动物和昆虫正在外头挨饿受冻。这让我们感慨，人事的代谢、轮回的交替是大自然的不变法则。但黯淡的冬夜里时刻跃动着希冀的微光——那便是春回大地、万象更新的一刻。但是，新春带来的，却是料峭的寒风、绵长的降雨以及无聊的倦怠。只有秋天，才能许你一个美好的憧憬。