白人的城市里没有安静，没有地方可以倾听春天里树叶临风招展的声音，也听不见昆虫振翅作乐的声音。或许是因为我还尚未开化，不能理解吧。城市的噪音羞辱我们的双耳。如果一个人在夜间听不到池塘边青蛙在争论，也听不见北美夜鹰的孤独的鸣叫，这种生活，算是活着？

I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.

我是红人，我不懂。清风的声音轻轻扫过池塘的水面，清风的芳香，是经午后雨露洗涤或浸过松香的，这才是红人所愿听愿闻的。

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath--the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

红人珍爱大气，所有一切都共享一种气息——野兽、树木还有人类都分享着同一种气息。白人似乎不会注意他要靠空气才能存活，像一个死去多日的人，已不能辨别恶臭。但若卖地给你，务请牢记，我们珍爱大气，空气养育着所有的生命，