There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world's artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

Če se prav spomnim (prevod je nastal že pred leti), mi je zadnji verz "Kdaj je kdo ustvaril glasbo za blag dan?" kar nekaj težav. Od možnih različic sem nazadnje zapisal "Kdo je kdaj pesem zapel za blagost dneva". Menil sem, da ne gre za glasbo, ampak za poezijo. "Blag dan" sem zaradi melodike prepesnil v "blagost dneva". Še en razlog je bil. Poetesa se je v pesmih izogibala pridevnikov. Tu sem enega od redkih ujporabljenih pridevnikov prepesnil v samostalnik, da bi čim bolj prikazal poetesin slog.