the children of the night-第3节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



Are　we　to　keep　Christ　writhing　on　the　cross！









Dear　Friends







Dear　friends；　reproach　me　not　for　what　I　do；

Nor　counsel　me；　nor　pity　me；　nor　say

That　I　am　wearing　half　my　life　away

For　bubble…work　that　only　fools　pursue。

And　if　my　bubbles　be　too　small　for　you；

Blow　bigger　then　your　own：　　the　games　we　play

To　fill　the　frittered　minutes　of　a　day；

Good　glasses　are　to　read　the　spirit　through。



And　whoso　reads　may　get　him　some　shrewd　skill；

And　some　unprofitable　scorn　resign；

To　praise　the　very　thing　that　he　deplores；

So；　friends　（dear　friends）；　remember；　if　you　will；

The　shame　I　win　for　singing　is　all　mine；

The　gold　I　miss　for　dreaming　is　all　yours。









The　Story　of　the　Ashes　and　the　Flame







No　matter　why；　nor　whence；　nor　when　she　came；

There　was　her　place。　　No　matter　what　men　said；

No　matter　what　she　was；　living　or　dead；

Faithful　or　not；　he　loved　her　all　the　same。

The　story　was　as　old　as　human　shame；

But　ever　since　that　lonely　night　she　fled；

With　books　to　blind　him；　he　had　only　read

The　story　of　the　ashes　and　the　flame。



There　she　was　always　coming　pretty　soon

To　fool　him　back；　with　penitent　scared　eyes

That　had　in　them　the　laughter　of　the　moon

For　baffled　lovers；　and　to　make　him　think　

Before　she　gave　him　time　enough　to　wink　

Sin's　kisses　were　the　keys　to　Paradise。









For　Some　Poems　by　Matthew　Arnold







Sweeping　the　chords　of　Hellas　with　firm　hand；

He　wakes　lost　echoes　from　song's　classic　shore；

And　brings　their　crystal　cadence　back　once　more

To　touch　the　clouds　and　sorrows　of　a　land

Where　God's　truth；　cramped　and　fettered　with　a　band

Of　iron　creeds；　he　cheers　with　golden　lore

Of　heroes　and　the　men　that　long　before

Wrought　the　romance　of　ages　yet　unscanned。



Still　does　a　cry　through　sad　Valhalla　go

For　Balder；　pierced　with　Lok's　unhappy　spray　

For　Balder；　all　but　spared　by　Frea's　charms；

And　still　does　art's　imperial　vista　show；

On　the　hushed　sands　of　Oxus；　far　away；

Young　Sohrab　dying　in　his　father's　arms。









Amaryllis







Once；　when　I　wandered　in　the　woods　alone；

An　old　man　tottered　up　to　me　and　said；

〃Come；　friend；　and　see　the　grave　that　I　have　made

For　Amaryllis。〃　　There　was　in　the　tone

Of　his　complaint　such　quaver　and　such　moan

That　I　took　pity　on　him　and　obeyed；

And　long　stood　looking　where　his　hands　had　laid

An　ancient　woman；　shrunk　to　skin　and　bone。



Far　out　beyond　the　forest　I　could　hear

The　calling　of　loud　progress；　and　the　bold

Incessant　scream　of　commerce　ringing　clear；

But　though　the　trumpets　of　the　world　were　glad；

It　made　me　lonely　and　it　made　me　sad

To　think　that　Amaryllis　had　grown　old。









Kosmos







Ah；　　shuddering　men　that　falter　and　shrink　so

To　look　on　death；　　what　were　the　days　we　live；

Where　life　is　half　a　struggle　to　forgive；

But　for　the　love　that　finds　us　when　we　go？

Is　God　a　jester？　　Does　he　laugh　and　throw

Poor　branded　wretches　here　to　sweat　and　strive

For　some　vague　end　that　never　shall　arrive？

And　is　He　not　yet　weary　of　the　show？



Think　of　it；　all　ye　millions　that　have　planned；

And　only　planned；　the　largess　of　hard　youth！

Think　of　it；　all　ye　builders　on　the　sand；

Whose　works　are　down！　　　Is　love　so　small；　forsooth？

Be　brave！　　To…morrow　you　will　understand

The　doubt；　the　pain；　the　triumph；　and　the　Truth！









Zola







Because　he　puts　the　compromising　chart

Of　hell　before　your　eyes；　you　are　afraid；

Because　he　counts　the　price　that　you　have　paid

For　innocence；　and　counts　it　from　the　start；

You　loathe　him。　　But　he　sees　the　human　heart

Of　God　meanwhile；　and　in　God's　hand　has　weighed

Your　squeamish　and　emasculate　crusade

Against　the　grim　dominion　of　his　art。



Never　until　we　conquer　the　uncouth

Connivings　of　our　shamed　indifference

（We　call　it　Christian　faith！）　are　we　to　scan

The　racked　and　shrieking　hideousness　of　Truth

To　find；　in　hate's　polluted　self…defence

Throbbing；　the　pulse；　the　divine　heart　of　man。









The　Pity　of　the　Leaves







Vengeful　across　the　cold　November　moors；

Loud　with　ancestral　shame　there　came　the　bleak

Sad　wind　that　shrieked；　and　answered　with　a　shriek；

Reverberant　through　lonely　corridors。

The　old　man　heard　it；　and　he　heard；　perforce；

Words　out　of　lips　that　were　no　more　to　speak　

Words　of　the　past　that　shook　the　old　man's　cheek

Like　dead；　remembered　footsteps　on　old　floors。



And　then　there　were　the　leaves　that　plagued　him　so！

The　brown；　thin　leaves　that　on　the　stones　outside

Skipped　with　a　freezing　whisper。　　Now　and　then

They　stopped；　and　stayed　there　　just　to　let　him　know

How　dead　they　were；　but　if　the　old　man　cried；

They　fluttered　off　like　withered　souls　of　men。









Aaron　Stark







Withal　a　meagre　man　was　Aaron　Stark；　

Cursed　and　unkempt；　shrewd；　shrivelled；　and　morose。

A　miser　was　he；　with　a　miser's　nose；

And　eyes　like　little　dollars　in　the　dark。

His　thin；　pinched　mouth　was　nothing　but　a　mark；

And　when　he　spoke　there　came　like　sullen　blows

Through　scattered　fangs　a　few　snarled　words　and　close；

As　if　a　cur　were　chary　of　its　bark。



Glad　for　the　murmur　of　his　hard　renown；

Year　after　year　he　shambled　through　the　town；　

A　loveless　exile　moving　with　a　staff；

And　oftentimes　there　crept　into　his　ears

A　sound　of　alien　pity；　touched　with　tears；　

And　then　（and　only　then）　did　Aaron　laugh。









The　Garden







There　is　a　fenceless　garden　overgrown

With　buds　and　blossoms　and　all　sorts　of　leaves；

And　once；　among　the　roses　and　the　sheaves；

The　Gardener　and　I　were　there　alone。

He　led　me　to　the　plot　where　I　had　thrown

The　fennel　of　my　days　on　wasted　ground；

And　in　that　riot　of　sad　weeds　I　found

The　fruitage　of　a　life　that　was　my　own。



My　life！　　Ah；　yes；　there　was　my　life；　indeed！

And　there　were　all　the　lives　of　humankind；

And　they　were　like　a　book　that　I　could　read；

Whose　every　leaf；　miraculously　signed；

Outrolled　itself　from　Thought's　eternal　seed；

Love…rooted　in　God's　garden　of　the　mind。









Cliff　Klingenhagen







Cliff　Klingenhagen　had　me　in　to　dine

With　him　one　day；　and　after　soup　and　meat；

And　all　the　other　things　there　were　to　eat；

Cliff　took　two　glasses　and　filled　one　with　wine

And　one　with　wormwood。　　Then；　without　a　sign

For　me　to　choose　at　all；　he　took　the　draught

Of　bitterness　himself；　and　lightly　quaffed

It　off；　and　said　the　other　one　was　mine。



And　when　I　asked　him　what　the　deuce　he　meant

By　doing　that；　he　only　looked　at　me

And　grinned；　and　said　it　was　a　way　of　his。

And　though　I　know　the　fellow；　I　have　spent

Long　time　a…wondering　when　I　shall　be

As　happy　as　Cliff　Klingenhagen　is。









Charles　Carville's　Eyes







A　melancholy　face　Charles　Carville　had；

But　not　so　melancholy　as　it　seemed；　

When　once　you　knew　him；　　for　his　mouth　redeemed

His　insufficient　eyes；　forever　sad：

In　them　there　was　no　life…glimpse；　good　or　bad；　

Nor　joy　nor　passion　in　them　ever　gleamed；

His　mouth　was　all　of　him　that　ever　beamed；

His　eyes　were　sorry；　but　his　mouth　was　glad。



He　never　was　a　fellow　that　said　much；

And　half　of　what　he　did　say　was　not　heard

By　many　of　us：　　we　were　out　of　touch

With　all　his　whims　and　all　his　theories

Till　he　was　dead；　so　those　blank　eyes　of　his

Might　speak　them。　　Then　we　heard　them；　every　word。









The　Dead　Village







Here　there　is　death。　　But　even　here；　they　say；　

Here　where　the　dull　sun　shines　this　afternoon

As　desolate　as　ever　the　dead　moon

Did　glimmer　on　dead　Sardis；　　men　were　gay；

And　there　were　little　children　here　to　play；

With　small　soft　hands　that　once　did　keep　in　tune

The　strings　that　stretch　from　heaven；　till　too　soon

The　change　came；　and　the　music　passed　away。



Now　there　is　nothing　but　the　ghosts　of　things；　

No　life；　no　love；　no　children；　and　no　men；

And　over　the　forgotten　place　there　clings

The　strange　and　unrememberable　light

That　is　in　dreams。　　The　music　failed；　and　then

God　frowned；　and　shut　the　village　from　His　sight。









Boston







My　northern　pines　are　good　enough　for　me；

But　there's　a　town　my　memory　uprears　

A　town　that　always　like　a　friend　appears；

And　always　in　the　sunrise　by　the　sea。

And　over　it；　somehow；　there　seems　to　be

A　downward　flash　of　something　new　and　fierce；

That　ever　strives　to　clear；　but　never　clears

The　dimness　of　a　charmed　antiquity。









Two　Sonnets







　　I





Just　as　I　wonder　at　the　twofold　screen

Of　twisted　innocence　that　you　would　plait

For　eyes　that　uncourageously　await

The　coming　of　a　kingdom　that　has　been；

So　do　I　wonder　what　God's　love　can　mean

To　you　that　all　so　strangely　estimate

The　purpose　and　the　consequent　estate

Of　one　short　shuddering　step　to　the　Unseen。



No；　I　have　not　your　backward　faith　to　shrink

Lone…faring　from　the　doorway　of