The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had never been. There one might have sat the clock round lost in thought. Thought—to call it by a prouder name than it deserved—had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it until—you know the little tug—the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one's line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating.
港西人譯﹕河水反映着它所抉擇的幾處天空、橋、同燃燒著的樹，而當那個學生的船划過那水中的倒影後，水上一切又平靜的恢復了完整，好像他不會划過一般。一個人可以一晝夜坐在那裏，沉酣在思想之中。思想—給予它一個它不大配得上的嘉名—已經使它的釣絲垂到河中了。時間一分一分的過了，它在這裏那裏擺動着，於映影及漢荇之間，隨着水勢浮升或沉降，直到—你知道那微微的一拽—在一個人的釣絲的一端忽然凝聚上意念：隨即，小心翼翼的把它拉拽起來，並細心將它擺開？啊，擺在草上，才見出我的那份思想是多麼的細小，多麼的無關重要；就像是那種小小的魚兒，一個技術高明的漁人寧願把它再放回水中，以便使它長得肥大一點，有朝一日值得烹煮值得大嚼。
下次見~