the home book of verse-1-第51节
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〃Tell me thy trouble。〃 〃Oh； my dog is dead！
Murdered by poison！ … no one knows for what！ …
Was ever dog born capable of that？〃
〃Child；〃 … I began to say； but checked my thought； …
〃A better dog can easily be bought。〃
For no … what animal could him replace？
Those loving eyes！ That fond； confiding face！
Those dear； dumb touches！ Therefore I was dumb。
From word of mine could any comfort come？
A bitter sorrow 'tis to lose a brute
Friend； dog or horse； for grief must then be mute； …
So many smile to see the rivers shed
Of tears for one poor； speechless creature dead。
When parents die there's many a word to say …
Kind words； consoling_… one can always pray；
When children die 'tis natural to tell
Their mother； 〃Certainly； with them 'tis well！〃
But for a dog； 'twas all the life he had；
Since death is end of dogs； or good or bad。
This was his world； he was contented here；
Imagined nothing better； naught more dear；
Than his young mistress； sought no brighter sphere；
Having no sin； asked not to be forgiven；
Ne'er guessed at God nor ever dreamed of heaven。
Now he has passed away； so much of love
Goes from our life； without one hope above！
When a dog dies there's nothing to be said
But … kiss me； darling！ … dear old Smiler's dead。
Thomas William Parsons ＇1819…1892＇
THE CHILD'S HERITAGE
On； there are those； a sordid clan；
With pride in gaud and faith in gold；
Who prize the sacred soul of man
For what his hands have sold。
And these shall deem thee humbly bred：
They shall not hear； they shall not see
The kings among the lordly dead
Who walk and talk with thee！
A tattered cloak may be thy dole；
And thine the roof that Jesus had：
The broidered garment of the soul
Shall keep thee purple…clad！
The blood of men hath dyed its brede；
And it was wrought by holy seers
With sombre dream and golden deed；
And pearled with women's tears。
With Eld thy chain of days is one：
The seas are still Homeric seas；
Thy skies shall glow with Pindar's sun；
The stars of Socrates！
Unaged the ancient tide shall surge；
The old Spring burn along the bough：
For thee； new and old converge
In one eternal Now！
I give thy feet the hopeful sod；
Thy mouth； the priceless boon of breath；
The glory of the search for God
Be thine in life and death！
Unto thy flesh； the soothing dust；
Thy soul； the gift of being free：
The torch my fathers gave in trust；
Thy father gives to thee！
John G。 Neihardt ＇1881…
A GIRL OF POMPEII
A public haunt they found her in：
She lay asleep； a lovely child；
The only thing left undefiled
Where all things else bore taint of sin。
Her supple outlines fixed in clay
The universal law suspend；
And turn Time's chariot back； and blend
A thousand years with yesterday。
A sinless touch； austere yet warm；
Around her girlish figure pressed；
Caught the sweet imprint of her breast；
And held her； surely clasped； from harm。
Truer than work of sculptor's art
Comes this dear maid of long ago；
Sheltered from woeful chance； to show
A spirit's lovely counterpart；
And bid mistrustful men be sure
That form shall fate of flesh escape；
And； quit of earth's corruptions； shape
Itself； imperishably pure。
Edward Sandford Martin ＇1856…
ON THE PICTURE OF A 〃CHILD TIRED OF PLAY〃
Tired of play！ Tired of play！
What hast thou done this live…long day！
The bird is silent and so is the bee；
The shadow is creeping up steeple and tree；
The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves；
And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves；
Twilight gathers； and day is done； …
How hast thou spent it； restless one？
Playing！ And what hast thou done beside
To tell thy mother at eventide？
What promise of morn is left unbroken？
What kind word to thy playmate spoken？
Whom hast thou pitied； and whom forgiven？
How with thy faults has duty striven？
What hast thou learned by field and hill；
By greenwood path and by singing rill？
There will come an eve to a longer day
That will find thee tired； … but not with play！
And thou wilt learn； as thou learnest now；
With wearied limbs and aching brow；
And wish the shadows would faster creep
And long to go to thy quiet sleep。
Well will it be for thee then if thou
Art as free from sin and shame as now！
Well for thee if thy tongue can tell
A tale like this； of a day spent well！
If thine open hand hath relieved distress；
And thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness …
If thou hast forgiven the sore offence
And humbled thy heart with penitence；
If Nature's voices have spoken to thee
With her holy meanings； eloquently …
If every creature hath won thy love；
From the creeping worm to the brooding dove …
If never a sad； low…spoken word
Hath plead with thy human heart unheard …
Then； when the night steals on； as now
It will bring relief to thine aching brow；
And； with joy and peace at the thought of rest；
Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast。
Nathaniel Parker Willis ＇1806…1867＇
THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN
At the corner of Wood Street； when daylight appears；
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud； it has sung for three years：
Poor Susan has passed by the spot； and has heard
In the silence of morning the song of the Bird。
'Tis a note of enchantment； what ails her？ She sees
A mountain ascending； a vision of trees；
Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide；
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside。
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale；
Down which she so often has tripped with her pail；
And a single small cottage； a nest like a dove's；
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves。
She looks； and her heart is in heaven： but they fade；
The mist and the river； the hill and the shade：
The stream will not flow； and the hill will not rise；
And the colors have all passed away from her eyes！
William Wordsworth ＇1770…1850＇
CHILDREN'S SONG
Sometimes wind and sometimes rain；
Then the sun comes back again；
Sometimes rain and sometimes snow；
Goodness； how we'd like to know
Why the weather alters so。
When the weather's really good
We go nutting in the wood；
When it rains we stay at home；
And then sometimes other some
Of the neighbors' children come。
Sometimes we have jam and meat；
All the things we like to eat；
Sometimes we make do with bread
And potatoes boiled instead。
Once when we were put to bed
We had nowt and mother cried；
But that was after father died。
So； sometimes wind and sometimes rain；
Then the sun comes back again；
Sometimes rain and sometimes snow；
Goodness； how we'd like to know
If things will always alter so。
Ford Madox Ford ＇1873…
THE MITHERLESS BAIRN
When a' other bairnies are hushed to their hame
By aunty； or cousin； or frecky grand…dame；
Wha stands last and lanely； an' naebody carin'？
'Tis the puir doited loonie； … the mitherless bairn！
The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed；
Nane covers his cauld back； or haps his bare head；
His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn；
An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn。
Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there；
O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair；
But mornin' brings clutches； a' reckless an' stern；
That lo'e na the locks o' the mitherless bairn！
Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly rocked bed
Now rests in the mools where her mammie is laid；
The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn；
An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn。
Her spirit； that passed in yon hour o' his birth；
Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth；
Recording in heaven the blessings they earn
Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn！
O； speak him na harshly； … he trembles the while；
He bends to your bidding； and blesses your smile；
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn
That God deals the blow； for the mitherless bairn！
William Thom ＇1798？…1848＇
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN
Do ye hear the children weeping； O my brothers；
Ere the sorrow comes with years？
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers；
And that cannot stop their tears。
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows；
The young birds are chirping in the nest；
The young fawns are playing with the shadows；
The young flowers are blowing toward the west …
But the young； young children； O my brothers；
They are weeping bitterly！
They are weeping in the playtime of the others；
In the country of the free。
Do you question the young children in the sorrow；
Why their tears are falling so？
The old man may weep for his to…morrow
Which is lost in Long Ago；
The old tree is leafless in the forest；
The old year is ending in the frost；
The old wound； if stricken； is the sorest；
The old hope is
