anthology of massachusetts poets(马萨诸赛诗人)-第7节
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（Shepherds） Harken； Shepherds； harken； Hear the angels sing！
Jehovah sends a token； He himself hath spoken To proclaim our
King。
（Angels） Hasten； Shepherds； hasten； This shall be your sign；
Where the kine are stabled； In a manger cradled Lies the Child
Divine。
（Shepherds） Angels； Shepherds； People； and Shout the glad refrain！
Angels） Joy to every nation Bringing full salvation； Christ has come
to reign。 Hosanna！ Hosanna！ Hosanna！
CAROLINE HAZARD
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
REUBEN ROY
LITTLE fellow； brown with wind… I saw him in the street Peering at
numbers on the posts； But most discreet：
For when a woman came outdoors； Or slyly peeped instead； He turned
away； took off his hat； And scratched his head。
I watched him from my garden…wall Perhaps an hour or more； For
something in his attitude； The clothes he wore；
Awoke the dimmest memories Of when I was a boy And knew the
story of a man Named Reuben Roy。
It seems that Reuben went to sea The night his wife decried The fence
he built before their house And up the side。
He wanted it but she did not； Because it hid from view The spot in
which her mignonette And tulips grew。
Nobody saw his face again； But each year； unawares； He sent a sum
for taxes due… And fence repairs。
My curiosity aroused；
I sauntered forth to see Whether this individual Were really he。
〃Who are you looking for？〃 I asked His eyes； like two bright pence；
Sparkled at mine； and then he said： 〃A fence。〃
〃Somebody burned it Hallowe'en； When people were in bed； Before
the judge could prosecute； The culprit fled。〃
Well； Reuben only touched his hat And mumbled； 〃Thank you； Sir；〃
And asked me whereabouts to find A carpenter。
HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS
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COUNTRY ROAD
I CAN'T forget a gaunt grey barn Like a face without an eye That kept
recurring by field and tarn Under a Cape Cod sky。
I can't forget a woman's hand； Roughened and scarred by toil That
beckoned clear…eyed children tanned By sun and wind and soil。
Beauty and hardship； bent and bound Under the selfsame yoke： Babies
with bare knees plump and round And stooping women folk。
MARIE LOUISE HERSEY
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
WREATHS
RED wreaths Hang in my neighbor's window； Green wreaths in my
own。 On this day I lost my husband。 On this day you lost your boy。 On this
day Christ was born。 Red wreaths； Green wreaths Hang in Our Windows
Red for a bleeding heart； Green for grave grass。 Mary； mother of Jesus；
Look down and comfort us。 You too knew passion； You too knew pain。
Comfort us； Who are not brides of God； Nor bore God。 On Christmas day
Hang wreaths； Red for new pain。 Green for spent passion。
CAROLYN HILLMAN
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ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS
MEMPHIS
WHY should I sing of my present？ It is noth… ing to me or you；
Rather I'd dream of Dixie and tie ships on the old bayou！ Rather I'd
dream of my packets and the lazy river days； Rather I'd dream of my levee
and the crimson sunset haze；
Rather I'd dream of my triumphs； of the days that are long gone by；
Rather I'd dream of flame…tipped stacks against a saffron sky； Of level
lawns of topaz； of level fields of jade； Of the rambling pillared mansions
that my fathers' fathers made！
Why should I sing of my present？ It is nothing to you or me； But the
river road； the great road； the high road to the sea！ Aye； that is worth the
dreaming； aye； that was worth the pain。 Send me back my river； and I shall
wake again！
GORDON MALHERBE HILLMAN
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SAINT COLUMBKILLE
COLUMBKILLE！ Saint Columbkille！ You naughty man； Saint
Columbkille！ Why did you Finnian's Psalter take And secretly a copy
make？ You know 'twas such a naughty thing For one descended from a
king To lock himself into a cell； 'Twas far from right；…you knew it well；…
And copy Finnian's Psalter through； Against his will as well you knew。
And then to think a common bird Should feel such shame； that when he
heard The breathing spy outside your door； And felt your sainthood was no
more； Should through the crack attack the spy； And in a rage pluck out his
eye； As if that saintly Irish crane Would hide from all your Saintship's
stain。 I grieve to think that you did add Sin unto sin； it is too bad。 For
Finnian could not you persuade To yield the copy that you made； Until the
King in his behalf Ruled…〃To each cow belongs her calf〃： And then you
grew so mad you swore On Erin's face you'd look no more。 And crossed
the sea the Picts to save； Because you so did misbehave To dear Saint
Finnian： faith； 'twas ill For you to act so； Columbkille！ A saint you were
no doubt； no doubt！ What pity 'twas you were found out！ We know an
angel （snob or fool？）
To Kiaran showed a common rule； An axe； an auger； and a saw； And
told that saint it was the law Of Heaven that Columbkille should be Far；
far above such saints as he； For Columbkille contemned a crown； While
he these homely tools laid down； To serve the Lord； and that the Lord To
each would give his due reward。 I wonder if that angel knew That Christ
these tools had laid down too。 O Columbkille！ O Columbkille！ A saint like
you must have his will； But for myself I'd rather be The common sinner
that you see Than make a crane ashamed of me； And angels talk such
idiocy。
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E。 J。 V。 HUIGINN
MISS DOANE
MISS Doane was sixty； probably； She rented third floor room That
opened on an airshaft full Of cooking smells and gloom。
She worked in philanthropic man's Well…known department store；
Cashiered in basement； hot and close； For forty years or more。
Each night when she came home she'd stand A moment in the hall；
Before she went into her room With low and tender call。
And often I would hear her voice Repeat a childish prayer； Or read
some old； old fairy tale Of Princess； grand and fair。
One night I went to visit her And spied； in little chair A great wax doll；
in dainty dress； And curls of flaxen hair。
I praised the doll； its prettiness； Miss Doane said； 〃I'm alone。 She
comforts me。 I wanted so A child to call my own。〃
Each night I heard her softly sing A childish lullaby； But once； and
just before she died； I heard her cry and cry！
WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON
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FALLEN FENCES
THE woods grew dark； black shadows rocked And I could scarcely see
My way along the old tote road； That long had seemed to me
To wind on aimlessly； but now Came full to life； the rain Would soon
strike down； ahead I saw A clearing； and a lane
Between gray； fallen fences and Wide； grayer； grim stone walls； So
grim and gray I shrank from thought Of weary； aching spalles。
On stony knoll great aspens swayed And swung in browsing teeth Of
wind； slim； silvered yearlings shook And shivered underneath。 Beyond；
some ancient oak trees bent And wrangled over roof Of weatherbeaten
house； and barn Whose sag bespoke no hoof。
And ivy crawled up either end Of house； to chimney； where It lashed
in futile anger at The wind wolves of the air。
I thought the house abandoned； and I ran t
