anthology of massachusetts poets(马萨诸赛诗人)-第12节
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forest out； Yet all their roofs are built of the forest's self；
Only they make the dead tree a shield against the living。 Such lapsing
of the forest then they use And turn it into countless lowly dwellings；
Sometimes they even cut the living down To leaven the dead roofs they
would erect。 Though some of these low roofs are lovely there Beneath the
guardianship of forest trees； And some yearn upward as with thought of
wings； Yet the eyes of the dwellers therein are dark To the upper forest and
they Fearful of the windy freedom of its top。 They have forgotten That the
greatest roof is but a banner And that it was a tree that made a Cross。
CHARLES R。 MURPHY
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MAGIC
TO W。S。B。
I RAN into the sunset light As hard as I could run： The treetops bowed
in sheer delight As if they loved the sun： And all the songs of little birds
Who laughed and cried in silver words Were joined as they were one。
And down the streaming golden sky A lark came circling with a cry Of
wonder…weaving joy： And all the arch of heaven rang Where meadowlands
of dreaming hang As when I was a boy。
And through the ringing solitude In pulsing lovely amplitude A mist
hung in a shroud； As though the light of loneliness Turned pure delight to
holiness； And bathed it in a cloud。
I stripped my laughing body bare And plunged into that holy air That
washed me like a sea； And raced against its silver tide That stroked my
eager glancing side And made my spirit free。
Across the limits of the land The wind and I swept hand and hand
Beyond the golden glow。 We danced across the ocean plain Like thrushes
singing in the rain A song of long ago。
And on into the silver night We strove to win the race with light And
bring the vision home； And bring the wonder home again Unto the
sleeping eyes of men Across the singing foam。
And down the river of the world Our glowing； limbs in glory swirled
As spring within a flower； And stars in music of delight Streamed gayly
down our shoulders white Like petals in a shower。
And tears of awful wonder ran Adown my cheeks to hear the clan Of
beauty chaunting white The prayer too deep for living word； Or sight of
man or winging bird； Or music over forest heard At falling of the night。
And dropping slowly as the dew On grasses that the winds renew In
urge of flooding fire； And softly as the hushing boughs The gentle airs of
dawn arouse To cradle morning's quire。
The murmur of the singing leaves Around the secret Flame； Like
mating swallows 'neath the eaves In rustling silence came； And flowing
through the silent air Creation fluttered in a prayer Descending on a spiral
stair； And calling me by name。
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
It nestled in my dreaming eyes Like heaven in a lake； And softened
hope into surprise For very beauty's sake； And silence blossomed into
morn； Whose fragrant rosy…breasted dawn Could scarcely bear to break。
I sang into the morning light As loud as I could sing； The treetops
bowed in sheer delight Before the slanting wing。 And all the songs of little
birds Who laughed and cried in silver words Adored the Risen Spring。
EDWARD J。 O'BRIEN
MICHAEL PAT
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
TO ANNA HEMPSTEAD
BRANCH
OLD Michael Pat he said to me He saw an angel in a tree。 He knew I'd
never； never doubt him； For what would heaven be without them。 The
angel laughed for very glee And sang out loud： 〃Heigh！ come with me！〃
Old Michael felt a creeping kind Of wonder in his humble mind； And；
hardly knowing what to say； Ran where the angel showed the way。 The
lambs were running on the hills； Glad laughter echoed from the rills； And
many hidden little birds Talked pleasant things in singing words。 He
followed up a mountain then And saw a crowd of singing men
Approaching to a Crown of Light Wherein they took a fresh delight。 He
danced and sang and whooped and crew To see the Lord of all he knew
Surrounded by the living songs Of stars and men in countless throngs； And
then he died to life again； And shovelled with the strength of ten。 He
taught me how to say my letters； And take my hat off to my betters； And
when I asked for fairy stories； He told me of angelic glories。 He was a
lovely farmer； he Had seen an angel in a tree。
EDWARD J。 O'BRIEN
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
SONG
FROM 〃FLESH： A GEOGORIAN ODE〃
EBB on with me across the sunset tide And float beyond the waters of
the world； The light of evening slipping from my side； Thy softened voice
in waves of silence furled。
Flow on into the flaming morning wine； Drowning the land in color。
Then on high Rise in thy candid innocence and shine Like to a poplar
straight against the sky。
EDWARD J。 O'BRIEN
IN MEMORIAM： FRANCIS LEDWIDGE （Killed in action； July 31；
1917）
SOLDIER and singer of Erin； What may I fashion for thee？ What
garland of words or of flowers？ Singer of sunlight and showers； The wind
on the lea；
Of clouds； and the houses of Erin； Wee cabins； white on the plain； And
bright with the colours of even； Beauty of earth and of heaven falls
Outspread beyond Slane！ night through let my mind be still；
Slane； where the Easter of Patrick Flamed on the night of the Gael；
Guard both the honor and story Of him who has died for the glory That
crowns Innisfail。
Soldier of right and of freedom； I offer thee song and hot tears。 With
Brian； and Red Hugh O'Donnell； The chiefs of Tyrone and Tryconnell；
Live on through the years！
NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR
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EVENSONG
A SHEPHERD piping； herald of the Night Who comes with Silence up
the coloured vale； Treading low gently； clad in greyish white； Poignantly
piping； sound your reedy wail！ For Day departed moves in funeral train
Tended by Twilight and； in deepest rose； The splendid Sunset melts
beneath the main While sweet the Sea…wind with cool softness blows。 As
when a mother gathers to her breast The child who frets for Dad's
remembered smart； Now Light fades quickly in the ashen west； And
Night…Peace falls across my troubled heart。 Flutes； for the night through
let my mind be still； And God keep safe with Him my stubborn will！
NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR
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THE PROPHET
ALL day long he kept the sheep： Far and early； from the crowd； On
the hills from steep to steep； Where the silence cried aloud； And the
shadow of the cloud Wrapt him in a noonday sleep。
Where he dipped the water's cool； Filling boyish hands from thence；
Something breathed across the pool Stir of sweet enlightenments； And he
drank； with thirsty sense； Till his heart was brimmed and full。
Still； the hovering Voice unshed； And the Vision unbeheld； And the
mute sky overhead； And his longing； still withheld！ Even when the two
tears welled； Salt； upon that lonely bread。
Vaguely blessed in the leaves； Dim…companioned in the sun； Eager
mornings； wistful eyes； Very hunger drew him on； And To…morrow ever
shone With the glow the sunset weaves。
Even so； to that young heart； Words and hands and Men were dear；
And the stir of lane and mart After daylong vigil here。 Sunset called； and
he drew near； Still to find his path apart。
When the Bell； with gentle tongue； Called the herd…bells home again；
Through the purple shades he swun
