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冬天是寒冷的。它冰冻了乡间的小河，冰冻了田间的小路，冰冻了树上鸟儿的吟唱，同时也冰冻了人们的心。

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盛夏光年在指尖流淌，淌出一段回响在青石板上的陈年旧曲。

秋水碧云，净月沉璧，西风起，残雪不惊。忆往昔，云水半曲，不过新词成旧韵。素笺满地，空余相思句。落红十里，如你。笑问红尘深几许，戏一场，而已。

当你老了，头白了，睡意昏沉，

炉火旁打盹，请取下这部诗歌，

慢慢读，回想你过去眼神柔和，

回想它们昔日浓重的阴影；

多少人爱你青春欢畅的时辰，

爱慕你的美丽，假意或真心，

只有一人爱你那朝圣者的灵魂，

爱你衰老了的脸上痛苦的皱纹；

垂下头来，红光闪耀的炉子旁，

凄然地轻轻诉说那爱情的消逝，

在头顶的山上它缓缓踱着步子，

在一群星星中间隐藏着脸庞。

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 　

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, 　

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead 　

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.