在我有声有色的风景里，你是还未被别人发现的瀑布，清高洁白。就是因为那样清高才跌得这么惨，白白把自己交给山谷，咕噜咕噜积成青潭，嬉玩自己激起的泡沫，潭受不了，推开你，你沿路淙淙流荡，最后只好把自己交给海，变成浪。
In my vivid and dramatic landscape, you are the aloof and pure white waterfall yet unknown to others. It is just because of your aloofness that you fall so miserably, vainly trusting yourself to the valley. You tumble and rumble, then form a clear pond. You play with the foam you make. When the pond can no longer bear you, it pushes you aside; and then you gurgle all the way to the sea where you ripple away.
一大早，从暗处倾泻下来的阳光就缠着你不放，还制造影子，让你跳入，你怎样奋力都摔不开。阳光甚至嫌四周不够辉煌，还着色，更不合你透明的性格了。本以为入夜就可免除这些干扰，偏偏月有时幽柔，下来照亮你的山歌。
Early in the morning sunlight, streaming down through a dark place, ties you up and makes shadows for you to jump in. No matter how hard you try, you can not free yourself from it. The sunlight even thinks your surroundings are still not splendid enough; thus, it tints you with colours. This is still unsuitable for your character. You mean to avoid this trouble at night, but sometimes as the moon beams do reach you with dim and soft streams of light, that makes your folk song brightened.
你的山歌总是奔放，然而即使在晚上都唱不出什么名堂。虽激昂如进行曲，也不过使附近无法行军的树，边听边摇边叹而已。既然活在你宏亮的声音里，那些树只好日夜叹息。
Your folk song is always overflowing with enthusiasm, but even at night you can’t get anywhere with it. Although your folk song is exciting and full of the indignation of a marching song, it just makes the trees around you sigh while they swing back and forth. Since living in such a boisterous sounding environment, the trees continue to sigh day in day out.
鸟曾来过。不能啄你的清高，也不能栖息在你的清白上，怎样重奏合唱都比不过你，你又吵得潭里无鱼。鸟不愿在长年安定的树上造巢，飞走了。
The birds have been here, but they can not peck at your aloofness or rest upon your foam of purity and no matter how they sing in chorus, they can not match you. Besides, your clatter makes the pond fishless. Birds don’t like to build their nests in trees that rustle all the year round, so they fly away.
风总是来。不能在总是冲动的你上面雕刻什么，又抱不走你，它一用力，你就和它挣扎不清。它若发怒挟雨而来，你淋久后也激动，竟不管下面已泛滥，还往下冲，你觉得很不英雄。
The wind is always here. It can’t carve anything on you, for you are always excited and it can’t take you away, either. As soon as it exerts itself, you would fight with it and become tangled together. If wind comes here angrily and brings rain, after being showered for a long time, you become excited as well. Thus, you fall down regardless of the flood you make below, for you feel yourself not heroic enough.
因为是水，跌不死，所以才总是那么壮烈。其实你并没有自己。也不知是谁，水总在推，只好向前，不能再向前时，只好嚷着向下跳。总是向下跳，无时间思考，你觉得没什么可赞美的。
As you are water, you can’t fall to your death; thus, you are always heroic. Actually, you don’t have yourself. It is just because you are constantly pushed ahead by hind water, so you have to forever march forward. And when you can’t march any further, you jump down with cries and shouts. You are always dancing, you have no time to think and you feel you have nothing to praise.
不能赞美的也只是愤怒却不知在咆哮什么，整天就落进自己的呐喊，自听自赏自鼓掌。虽然你的激情感动不了山的淡漠，你仍坚持力的表现，然而没被发现就不能发电，你觉得寂寞。
What can’t be praised is just anger without knowing what you are hollering for! You fall into your own cries and shouts. You hear your own claps. Although your excitement can’t move the indifference of the mountains, you still persist in displaying your power. However, you feel lonely; for you haven’t yet been discovered for the power you are so eager to generate.
在你无言的素描里，你拒绝是与世隔绝的瀑布。你宁可是无桥的溪中一块石，硬不怕汹涌，不大，但从水面凸出给脚踏过。不稀罕什么雄伟，什么壮丽，也不计较是否被发现了。
In your wordless description, what you refuse to accept is being a waterfall in seclusion. You would prefer to be a stone in the brook without a bridge. It’s hard and not afraid of the furious currents. It’s small but protrudes from the water and becomes a stepping stone. It does not value nobility or magnificence, nor does it care whether it’s ever discovered or not.