Futility

Wilfred Owen

Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.


空虛

把他移到太陽底下—
陽光輕柔的撫觸, 曾使他醒來,
在家鄉, 未播種的田野, 若有若無的氣味.
總會是打動他, 即使是在法國,
直到這個早晨, 這場雪.
現在如果有什麼事, 可以叫醒他
往昔慈悲的太陽, 知道答案.