安装 Steam
登录
|
语言
繁體中文(繁体中文)
日本語(日语)
한국어(韩语)
ไทย(泰语)
български(保加利亚语)
Čeština(捷克语)
Dansk(丹麦语)
Deutsch(德语)
English(英语)
Español-España(西班牙语 - 西班牙)
Español - Latinoamérica(西班牙语 - 拉丁美洲)
Ελληνικά(希腊语)
Français(法语)
Italiano(意大利语)
Bahasa Indonesia(印度尼西亚语)
Magyar(匈牙利语)
Nederlands(荷兰语)
Norsk(挪威语)
Polski(波兰语)
Português(葡萄牙语 - 葡萄牙)
Português-Brasil(葡萄牙语 - 巴西)
Română(罗马尼亚语)
Русский(俄语)
Suomi(芬兰语)
Svenska(瑞典语)
Türkçe(土耳其语)
Tiếng Việt(越南语)
Українська(乌克兰语)
报告翻译问题

New Zealand



What fellow traveller returned from the U.S.S.R.,
Burdened with souvenirs in the form of second thoughts, said
That, rephrasing the Slavic platitude as a reactionary epigram? Thence
One must count oneself privileged to have escaped empty-handed,
Frisked in exit by the incompetent customs of the country
Who got everything backwards, inspecting my papers with a glass:
Bourgeois formalism apart, my handwriting looks like a decadent cipher.
“Chto eto?” The pocket epic or this wordy verse? “Poezia.”
Insisting it scans as prose they confiscate War and Peace:
The classic comeback: loved her, hated him, your eponymous warhead
In gremium qui saepe se reicit aeterno devictus vulnere amoris:
Even apologists for free love must confess this pair legally
Wed, a union no sentimental do-gooder likes to solemnize.