In his widowed years of longing, in his windowed room of light 在他丧偶多年的渴望，在他的房间窗光

he lay the oil upon the canvas, brought sweet memory to life 他在画布上时打下的油，带来甜蜜的回忆生活

his speckled beard a brush of colour, his spotted hands both grace and speed 他的胡子斑点颜色的画笔，他发现手上既优雅和速度

I was the boy who came with evening, to sweep his floors and bring his tea 我是谁带着晚上，扫了地板，并把他的茶男孩

   

To the world he was the Master, his landscapes filled the gallery halls 对于世界而言，他是大师，他的风景画充满画廊大厅

but now he painted only portraits, unframed upon his private walls 但现在他只画人物肖像，无框在他的私人围墙

subjects sitting-walking-laughing in playful flight or soft refrain 主题休憩散步，笑嬉戏飞行或软近三成

a thousand forms and colours, but every face the same 一千形式和颜色，但每面临着同样的

   

Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand of history bleeds 跨页（跨年龄段）历史的运动手流血

... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are, but as we dream ......一个亲切的眼睛看我们，不是因为我们，而是我们的梦想

   

A winter's night when I arrived there, he looked so tired and near the end 当我到达那里冬天的夜晚，他看上去是那么累了，接近尾声

and as I cleaned his bench and brushes, I wished out loud to be like him 而当我清理他的替补和画笔，我想大声跟他一样

he said that art was only longing, trying to do what can't be done 他说，艺术是唯一的渴望，想做的不能做

and though he'd signed a thousand paintings, still he'd never finished one 虽然他已经签署了一千画作，还是他从来没有完成1

   

As I finished up my sweeping, in his sleep he spoke her name 当我完成了我扫地，在睡梦中，他说出了自己的名字

I looked again at all the portraits, each and every face the same 我又看了所有的画像，每一个面临着同样的

not as she was in pain or sorrow, but in timeless beauty seen 不是因为她是在痛苦和悲伤，但在永恒之美可见

as she served his noble dream 她担任他的崇高梦想

   

Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand of history bleeds 跨页（跨年龄段）历史的运动手流血

... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are, but as we dream ......一个亲切的眼睛看我们，不是因为我们，而是我们的梦想