A Descriptive Essey
From English to Traditional Chinese

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.

我是個傷春卻不悲秋的人，是否因為我已習慣了蒼涼的心境？春天既象徵著生機與萌發，卻也暗藏著酸楚與苦澀。比如在雨橫風狂的三月，曾經卓然玉立的黃水仙，最後也只是慢慢凋謝、垂垂老去。自然界的萬事萬物無不在警醒世人：任何事物都是“偶爾成章”，終將消逝湮沒，成為匆匆的過客。春天的生命，在青澀的悸動和張揚的揮灑之中，迫不及待地奔向絢爛之極的盛夏。因此，青春的美學僅僅是稍縱即逝的激情，讓人無從安適。

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，秋天卻安靜祥和。夏的燥熱，在此季蛻變為飽蘸愛意的溫馨。即便是英格蘭潮濕冷鬱、反復無常的天氣，也能迎來純金色的九月。清新的晨間，萬物踴動，活潑歡悅；垂暮的傍晚，煙靄迷蒙、屋舍依稀。冷風裹挾著初冬的來訊、滲透著夏日的余溫，幻化成一場盛夏般的瓢潑驟雨。那剛在日頭下焦躁的花園，經過一回洗禮，更顯熠熠生輝。

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.

秋日將大地浸染、給萬物潤色。在春天，極目所見的無非是色彩鮮亮、濃妝豔抹的花朵，大紅色、鮮黃色、正藍色……精緻卻纖弱、明麗卻稚嫩。與此不同，秋景則如陳釀的美酒，將春色調和醇化，積澱出深沉的底蘊、成熟的魅力。紫色、緋紅、青銅、琥珀、赤褐……這些色彩有時如同繡帷般的羅列鋪排，有時則交融成全新色彩。比如，淡然的秋木和田間的玉米垛滿載著燦爛的金輝。在見方的圍欄中，鮮紅的莓果調皮地參綴在盎然的綠意之中；不遠處，犁溝縱橫、紋路分明的耕田正在靜謐中積蓄著養分。沼澤裡，紫色石南與荊豆花叢相互交織，真是燦若雲錦、斑斕華麗。

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.

春天是青澀的少年，喧鬧而膚淺。秋天則是成熟的壯年，深邃而醇厚。某個秋日清晨，濃霧隱去了白日的光華。在靜靜等待中，忽而天地變色，深林戰慄；狂風卷地，枯葉紛墜；巨浪排空，潮流洶湧。隨後狂風稍歇，滿城的烏雲化為驟雨傾瀉而下。灑豆般的雨滴跳蕩在阡陌的轍印裡，化成溪流湧出了青青的牧草地。等到風住雨收，只見日光初露、層雲漸散、旻天開朗。枝杈在晴光下瑩瑩閃爍，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.

等到夕陽下山，早霜初下，夜空靜謐得宛如止水澄波。天上星辰好似通透的水晶和青瑩的劍尖，在天鵝絨般的蒼穹上閃閃發光。蝸居屋內的我，看著搖曳的昏燈、聽著劈啪的爐火，愜意萬分。忽而興之所至，沏一壺熱茶，配著溫熱酥軟的黃油吐司，欣賞著斯卡拉蒂的奏鳴曲、西貝柳斯的交響樂抑或是貝多芬的小提琴協奏曲。偶爾也會翻開書本，神游遠方，那是夏日旅行遠遠到不了的地方。睡意襲來，輕輕閉上雙眼就進入了甜美的夢鄉。脫離了春的躁動、夏的激越，我們洗盡鉛華、歸於平淡，和同著萬物的氣息、靜聽著時空的轉換。

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.