Winter is coming, can spring be far behind? This sentence comes from "Ode to the West Wind" by the famous British romantic poet Shelley. When the cold winter comes, the cold wind howls and everything withers, giving people a sense of desolation. But don’t forget that after winter, spring comes. By then, the sun is shining, the grass is growing, and all things are revived and full of vitality. People who are in darkness and pain should not forget to look for the light of hope. Don’t forget that after darkness comes dawn. This poem was written during the British Revolution. Therefore, "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" It is written to those people living in a dark society, not to give up hope, to have the courage to fight against the dark reality and to win. light.

English version o wild west wind, thou breath of autumn's being, thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, pestilence-stricken multitudes: o thou, who chariotest to their dark wintry bed the winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, each like a corpse within its grave, until thine azure sister of the spring shall blow her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) with living hues and odours plain and hill: wild spirit, which art moving everywhere; destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear! ii thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's motion, loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, angels of rain and lightning: there are spread on the blue surface of thine a?ry surge, like the bright hair uplifted from the head of some fierce maenad, even from the dim verge of the horizon to the zenith's height, the locks of the approaching storm. thou dirge of the dying year, to which this closing night will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, vaulted with all thy congregated might of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear! iii thou who didst waken from his summer dreams the blue mediterranean, where he lay, lull'd by the coil of his crystàlline stream

s, beside a pumice isle in baiae's bay, and saw in sleep old palaces and towers quivering within the wave's intenser day, all overgrown with azure moss and flowers so sweet, the sense faints picturing them! thou for whose path the atlantic's level powers cleave themselves into cha ***s, while far below the sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear the sapless foliage of the ocean, know thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, and tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear! iv if i were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; if i were a swift cloud to fly with thee; a wave to pant beneath thy power, and share the impulse of thy strength, only less free than thou, o uncontrollable! if even i were as in my boyhood, and could be the rade of thy wanderings over heaven, as then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed scarce seem'd a vision; i would ne'er have striven as thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. oh , lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! i fall upon the thorns of life! i bleed! a heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd one too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. v make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: what if my leaves are falling like its own! the tumult of thy mighty harmonies will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, sweet though in sadness. be thou, spirit fierce, my spirit! be thou me, impetuous one! drive my dead thoughts over the universe like wither'd leaves t

o quicken a new birth! and, by the incantation of this verse, scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! be through my lips to unawaken'd earth the trumpet of a prophecy! o wind , if winter es, can spring be far behind? "Ode to the West Wind" Shelley 1 Oh, wild west wind, the breath of your autumn entity! Because of your invisible appearance, thousands of trees are sparse, like ghosts escaping from the exorcist, Withered yellow, black, pale, flushed, countless fallen leaves destroyed by plague, flying in all directions; Oh, you also transported the winged seeds in the air to their dark overwintering beds; as if they were lying stiffly in the tomb. Their corpses, they will lie dormant separately, desolate and desolate, until your azure sister blows her loud horn to the dreaming earth in spring (like herding sheep, driving sweet flower buds into the air to feed and drink). The mountains and plains are filled with the color and fragrance of life. You, unruly spirit, you move everywhere; you destroy and you preserve, hear, oh, hear! 2 On your streams, in the tumultuous heights, the chaotic clouds, the angels of rain and lightning, just as The endless withered leaves of the earth break away from the tangled branches of the sky and the sea, and drift and rush; on the surface of your pure waves, they are like the vigorous blue hair rising from Maynard's head, from the dark edge of the boundless horizon to the sky The top of the mountain is scattered with the tossing curls of the approaching storm. You, the elegy of the dying years, the four-sided night, supported by the power of all the vapor you have gathered, will form the vaulted top of his huge tomb. From your majestic atmosphere will burst forth black rain, fire, and hail; oh, hear! 3 You, oh, it is you who awaken the blue Mediterranean from its sleep, where it has slept all summer long. Outside a pumice island in Yiwan, I was lulled to sleep by the sound of clear flowing water. I dreamed of ancient towers, towers and palaces, trembling in the turbulent waves, all covered with azure moss and flowers, and fragrant. The fragrant and intoxicating feeling is hard to describe. Oh, in order to make way for you, the waters of the Atlantic Ocean suddenly split open, and in the depths of the vast waves, the seabed flowers and algae and the sludge jungle with juiceless branches and leaves, Oh, because they recognized your roar, they suddenly changed their colors and became frightened. , shuddering and falling by itself; hear, oh, hear! 4 If I were a light floating cloud, I could fly with you, If I were a fallen leaf, I could be carried by you, If I were a wave, I could breathe in your power, Share your strong pulse, free and uninhibited, second only, oh, second only to the uncontrollable you; if I could be like my childhood companion, traveling with you in the sky, because at that time, it seemed to be beyond your heaven. Your speed is not a miracle; I will not be as eager as now to pray to you. Oh, lift me up quickly, just like you lift up the waves, floating clouds and fallen leaves! I am capsized by the thorns of life! I am bleeding! This one suppressed by the burden of time is so much like you, like you, proud and untamed , and agile. 5 Just as you use the forest to play, please use me as your harp, even if my leaves wither like those of the forest! Your extraordinary and harmonious impassioned emotions will surely play the deep autumn music and pathos from the forest with me. But it's sweet. I wish that your brave elf could be my soul, and I could become the brave you! Please broadcast my withered thoughts to the universe, just like you drive the fallen leaves to urge new life, please rely on the spell written in my rhymes, like The ashes and sparks from the unextinguished embers spread across the world, spreading my words to thousands of households in the world. Through my lips, to the sleeping human realm, let the trumpet of prophecy sound! Oh, wind, if winter comes Now, can spring be far behind?