Considering the Snail
by Thom Gunn
The snail pushes through a green night,
for the grass is heavy with water and meets
over the bright path he makes,
where rain has darkened the earth's dark.
He moves in a wood of desire,
pale antlers barely stirring as he hunts.
I cannot tell what power is at work,
drenched there with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury?
All I think is that if later
I parted the blades above the tunnel
and saw the thin trail of broken white across litter,
I would never have imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.
蜗牛感怀
蜗牛用触角推进墨绿色的夜晚，
因为草叶上湿漉漉沾满水珠，
耷拉着交织在它推出的明亮小径，
雨在上面使大地的昏暗更加昏暗。
它在欲望之林中缓缓蠕动。
它捕食时，苍白的触角几乎不动。
我无法说出什么力量起作用，
在那里浸透于百思不解的思绪中。
蜗牛的愤懑何在？
我仅仅这样遐想：
即使稍后一些时候
我拨开蜗牛爬过的路上的叶片，
但见它留下的细细痕迹
粘着破碎的白色微粒，
穿过垃圾碎屑，
那我也难以想像伴随它从容前进的
徐迟缓慢的激情。