Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained faces up to hers, and smiles; and, though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone.

这时，黑夜像一位慈爱的母亲，轻轻把手放在我们发烫的额头上，抬起我们沾满泪痕的小脸，向我们微笑；她虽不说话，我们却懂得她的心意，把滚烫的脸颊贴在她胸前，痛苦便消散了。