名人诗歌|Summer Holiday

When the sun shouts and people abound¹

One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of

bronze

And the iron age； iron the unstable^{2 metal；}

Steel made of iron， unstable as his mother； the tow-

ered-up cities

Will be stains of rust^{3 on mounds4 of plaster.}

Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time， kind rains

will cure them，

Then nothing will remain of the iron age

And all these people but a thigh-bone or so， a poem

Stuck in the world's thought， splinters of glass

In the rubbish dumps， a concrete dam far off in the

mountain