We had a remarkable¹ sunset one day last November. I was walking in a meadow（草地，牧场）, the source of a small brook²（小溪，小河）, when the sun at last, just before setting, after a cold gray day, reached a clear stratum³（地层） in the horizon, and the softest, brightest morning sunlight fell on the dry grass and on the stems of the trees in the opposite horizon, and on the leaves of the shrub-oaks on the hill-side, while our shadows stretched long over the meadow eastward⁴, as if we were the only motes⁵（微粒） in its beams. It was such a light as we could not have imagined a moment before, and the air also was so warm and serene⁶ that nothing wanted to make a paradise of that meadow.

 

The sun sets on some retired⁷ meadow, where no house is visible, with all the glory and splendor⁸ that it lavishes⁹ on cities, and, perchance（偶然，可能）, as it has never set before, --where there is but a solitary¹⁰ marsh¹¹-hawk to have his wings gilded¹² by it, or only a masques lookout¹³ from his cabin, and there is some little black-veined brook in the midst of the marsh, just beginning to meander¹⁴（漫步，曲流）, winding¹⁵ slowly round a decaying stump¹⁶. We walked in so pure and bright a light, gilding¹⁷ the withered¹⁸ grass and leaves, so softly and serenely¹⁹ bright, I thought I had never bathed in such a golden flood, without a ripple²⁰ or a murmur²¹ to it.  

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