a dome of many-coloured glass(多彩玻璃顶)-第7节
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which compass thee； Thou standest； bright with April's buoyancy； Yet
holding Winter in some shaded wall Of stern； steep rock； and startled by
the call Of Spring； thy trees flush with expectancy And cast a cloud of
crimson； silently； Above thy snowy crevices where fall Pale shrivelled
oak leaves； while the snow beneath Melts at their phantom touch。
Another year Is quick with import。 Such each year has been。 Unmoved
thou watchest all； and all bequeath Some jewel to thy diadem of power；
Thou pledge of greater majesty unseen。
The Little Garden
A little garden on a bleak hillside Where deep the heavy； dazzling
mountain snow Lies far into the spring。 The sun's pale glow Is scarcely
able to melt patches wide About the single rose bush。 All denied Of
nature's tender ministries。 But no； For wonder…working faith has
made it blow With flowers many hued and starry…eyed。 Here sleeps the
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sun long； idle summer hours； Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove
Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers； Here four o'clocks； to the
passionate night above Fling whiffs of perfume； like pale incense
showers。 A little garden； loved with a great love！
To an Early Daffodil
Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring！ Thou herald of rich
Summer's myriad flowers！ The climbing sun with new recovered powers
Does warm thee into being； through the ring Of rich； brown earth he woos
thee； makes thee fling Thy green shoots up； inheriting the dowers Of
bending sky and sudden； sweeping showers； Till ripe and blossoming thou
art a thing To make all nature glad； thou art so gay； To fill the lonely
with a joy untold； Nodding at every gust of wind to…day； To…morrow
jewelled with raindrops。 Always bold To stand erect； full in the
dazzling play Of April's sun； for thou hast caught his gold。
Listening
'T is you that are the music； not your song。 The song is but a door
which； opening wide； Lets forth the pent…up melody inside； Your spirit's
harmony； which clear and strong Sings but of you。 Throughout your
whole life long Your songs； your thoughts； your doings； each divide
This perfect beauty； waves within a tide； Or single notes amid a glorious
throng。 The song of earth has many different chords； Ocean has many
moods and many tones Yet always ocean。 In the damp Spring woods
The painted trillium smiles； while crisp pine cones Autumn alone can
ripen。 So is this One music with a thousand cadences。
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The Lamp of Life
Always we are following a light； Always the light recedes； with
groping hands We stretch toward this glory； while the lands We journey
through are hidden from our sight Dim and mysterious； folded deep in
night； We care not； all our utmost need demands Is but the light； the
light！ So still it stands Surely our own if we exert our might。 Fool！
Never can'st thou grasp this fleeting gleam； Its glowing flame would die
if it were caught； Its value is that it doth always seem But just a little
farther on。 Distraught； But lighted ever onward； we are brought Upon
our way unknowing； in a dream。
Hero…Worship
A face seen passing in a crowded street； A voice heard singing music；
large and free； And from that moment life is changed； and we Become of
more heroic temper； meet To freely ask and give； a man complete
Radiant because of faith； we dare to be What Nature meant us。 Brave
idolatry Which can conceive a hero！ No deceit； No knowledge taught
by unrelenting years； Can quench this fierce； untamable desire。 We know
that what we long for once achieved Will cease to satisfy。 Be still our
fears； If what we worship fail us； still the fire Burns on； and it is much to
have believed。
In Darkness
Must all of worth be travailled for； and those Life's brightest stars
rise from a troubled sea？ Must years go by in sad uncertainty Leaving us
doubting whose the conquering blows； Are we or Fate the victors？ Time
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A Dome of Many…Coloured Glass
which shows All inner meanings will reveal； but we Shall never know
the upshot。 Ours to be Wasted with longing； shattered in the throes；
The agonies of splendid dreams； which day Dims from our vision； but
each night brings back； We strive to hold their grandeur； and essay To be
the thing we dream。 Sudden we lack The flash of insight； life grows
drear and gray； And hour follows hour； nerveless； slack。
Before Dawn
Life！ Austere arbiter of each man's fate； By whom he learns that
Nature's steadfast laws Are as decrees immutable； O pause Your even
forward march！ Not yet too late Teach me the needed lesson； when to
wait Inactive as a ship when no wind draws To stretch the loosened
cordage。 One implores Thy clemency； whose wilfulness innate Has
gone uncurbed and roughshod while the years Have lengthened into
decades； now distressed He knows no rule by which to move or stay；
And teased with restlessness and desperate fears He dares not watch in
silence thy wise way Bringing about results none could have
guessed。
The Poet
What instinct forces man to journey on； Urged by a longing blind but
dominant！ Nothing he sees can hold him； nothing daunt His never failing
eagerness。 The sun Setting in splendour every night has won His
vassalage； those towers flamboyant Of airy cloudland palaces now haunt
His daylight wanderings。 Forever done With simple joys and quiet
happiness He guards the vision of the sunset sky； Though faint with
weariness he must possess Some fragment of the sunset's majesty； He
spurns life's human friendships to profess Life's loneliness of dreaming
ecstasy。
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At Night
The wind is singing through the trees to…night； A deep…voiced song
of rushing cadences And crashing intervals。 No summer breeze Is this；
though hot July is at its height； Gone is her gentler music； with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas； These elemental； loud
necessities Which call to her to answer their swift might。 Above the
tossing trees shines down a star； Quietly bright； this wild； tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour。 And my mind； O Star！ is filled with
your white light； from far； So suffer me this one night to enjoy The
freedom of the onward sweeping wind。
The Fruit Garden Path
The path runs straight between the flowering rows； A moonlit path；
hemmed in by beds of bloom； Where phlox and marigolds dispute for
room With tall； red dahlias and the briar rose。 'T is reckless prodigality
which throws Into the night these wafts of rich perfume Which sweep
across the garden like a plume。 Over the trees a sin
