黄昏细雨明天地，却又心疑曾落未。
眼下飘飞心忆谁，玫瑰寂寞幻红翡。
亭台不复旧风情，洗去铅华暮色清。
架上葡萄将次熟，似闻先父漫哦声。
附：原诗英语版
The Rain
Jorge Luis Borges
The afternoon grows light because at last
Abruptly a minutely shredded rain
Is falling, or it fell. For once again
Rain is something happening in the past.
Whoever hears it fall has brought to mind
Time when by a sudden lucky chance
A flower called "rose" was open to his glance
And the curious color of the colored kind.
This rain that blinds the windows with its mists
Will gladden in suburbs no more to be found
The black grapes on a vine there overhead
In a certain patio that no longer exists.
And the drenched afternoon brings back the sound
How longed for, of my father's voice, not dead.
