我的生命不是長河，也不是大海，我的生命是小溪，是一條蜿蜒的小溪。 小溪的旅途平淡而又曲折，漫長而又單調。小溪的目的地永遠在下一站，小溪從不停滯，卻也從不曾匆匆趕路，忘了沿途的風景。小溪的水流很緩慢，好像隨時都有干涸的危險，可他卻總是很坦然——只要能隨心所欲地流向遠方的遠方，即使干涸了，又何妨? 小溪沒有方向，就像徐志摩的風一樣。它渴望漂泊，卻拒絕孤獨;追尋自由，卻摒棄放蕩;它有點荒涼，卻從未放棄希望;它有點固執，卻從不曾彷徨迷惘。只是慢慢地流著，忍受著風干或凍結的痛苦，等待著口渴的小鹿停在身邊啜飲純凈的溪水。 小溪，沒有長河的寧靜淡泊，沒有大海的洶涌澎湃，卻依然緩緩地流向遠方，隨心所欲，隨遇而安。

The River of Life

Thomas Campbell

THE MORE we live, more brief appear

Our life’s succeeding stages:

A day to childhood seems a year,

And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,

Ere passion yet disorders,

Steals lingering like a river smooth

Along its grassy borders.

But as the care-worn cheeks grow wan,

And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker,

Ye Stars, that measure life to man,

Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death,

Feel we its tide more rapid?

It may be strange—yet who would change

Time’s course to slower speeding,

When one by one our friends have gone

And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportion’d to their sweetness.