the complete poetical works-第133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！
Thine； O priest of Egypt； lately
Found I in the vast；
Weed…encumbered sombre； stately；
Grave…yard of the Past；
And a presence moved before me
On that gloomy shore；
As a waft of wind； that o'er me
Breathed； and was no more。
TO THE AVON
Flow on； sweet river！ like his verse
Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse
Nor wait beside the churchyard wall
For him who cannot hear thy call。
Thy playmate once； I see him now
A boy with sunshine on his brow；
And hear in Stratford's quiet street
The patter of his little feet。
I see him by thy shallow edge
Wading knee…deep amid the sedge；
And lost in thought； as if thy stream
Were the swift river of a dream。
He wonders whitherward it flows；
And fain would follow where it goes；
To the wide world； that shall erelong
Be filled with his melodious song。
Flow on； fair stream！ That dream is o'er；
He stands upon another shore；
A vaster river near him flows；
And still he follows where it goes。
PRESIDENT GARFIELD
〃E venni dal martirio a questa pace。〃
These words the poet heard in Paradise；
Uttered by one who； bravely dying here；
In the true faith was living in that sphere
Where the celestial cross of sacrifice
Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies；
And set thereon； like jewels crystal clear；
The souls magnanimous； that knew not fear；
Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes。
Ah me！ how dark the discipline of pain；
Were not the suffering followed by the sense
Of infinite rest and infinite release！
This is our consolation； and again
A great soul cries to us in our suspense；
〃I came from martyrdom unto this peace！〃
MY BOOKS
Sadly as some old mediaeval knight
Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield；
The sword two…handed and the shining shield
Suspended in the hall； and full in sight；
While secret longings for the lost delight
Of tourney or adventure in the field
Came over him； and tears but half concealed
Trembled and fell upon his beard of white；
So I behold these books upon their shelf；
My ornaments and arms of other days；
Not wholly useless； though no longer used；
For they remind me of my other self；
Younger and stronger； and the pleasant ways
In which I walked； now clouded and confused。
MAD RIVER
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
TRAVELLER
Why dost thou wildly rush and roar；
Mad River； O Mad River？
Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour
Thy hurrying； headlong waters o'er
This rocky shelf forever？
What secret trouble stirs thy breast？
Why all this fret and flurry？
Dost thou not know that what is best
In this too restless world is rest
From over…work and worry？
THE RIVER
What wouldst thou in these mountains seek；
O stranger from the city？
Is it perhaps some foolish freak
Of thine； to put the words I speak
Into a plaintive ditty？
TRAVELLER
Yes； I would learn of thee thy song；
With all its flowing number；
And in a voice as fresh and strong
As thine is； sing it all day long；
And hear it in my slumbers。
THE RIVER
A brooklet nameless and unknown
Was I at first； resembling
A little child； that all alone
Comes venturing down the stairs of stone；
Irresolute and trembling。
Later； by wayward fancies led；
For the wide world I panted；
Out of the forest dark and dread
Across the open fields I fled；
Like one pursued and haunted。
I tossed my arms； I sang aloud；
My voice exultant blending
With thunder from the passing cloud；
The wind； the forest bent and bowed；
The rush of rain descending。
I heard the distant ocean call；
Imploring and entreating；
Drawn onward； o'er this rocky wall
I plunged； and the loud waterfall
Made answer to the greeting。
And now； beset with many ills；
A toilsome life I follow；
Compelled to carry from the hills
These logs to the impatient mills
Below there in the hollow。
Yet something ever cheers and charms
The rudeness of my labors；
Daily I water with these arms
The cattle of a hundred farms；
And have the birds for neighbors。
Men call me Mad； and well they may；
When； full of rage and trouble；
I burst my banks of sand and clay；
And sweep their wooden bridge away；
Like withered reeds or stubble。
Now go and write thy little rhyme；
As of thine own creating。
Thou seest the day is past its prime；
I can no longer waste my time；
The mills are tired of waiting。
POSSIBILITIES
Where are the Poets； unto whom belong
The Olympian heights； whose singing shafts were sent
Straight to the mark； and not from bows half bent；
But with the utmost tension of the thong？
Where are the stately argosies of song；
Whose rushing keels made music as they went
Sailing in search of some new continent；
With all sail set； and steady winds and strong？
Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy； untaught
In schools； some graduate of the field or street；
Who shall become a master of the art；
An admiral sailing the high seas of thought；
Fearless and first and steering with his fleet
For lands not yet laid down in any chart。
DECORATION DAY
Sleep； comrades； sleep and rest
On this Field of the Grounded Arms；
Where foes no more molest；
Nor sentry's shot alarms！
Ye have slept on the ground before；
And started to your feet
At the cannon's sudden roar；
Or the drum's redoubling beat。
But in this camp of Death
No sound your slumber breaks；
Here is no fevered breath；
No wound that bleeds and aches。
All is repose and peace；
Untrampled lies the sod；
The shouts of battle cease；
It is the Truce of God！
Rest； comrades； rest and sleep！
The thoughts of men shall be
As sentinels to keep
Your rest from danger free。
Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers；
Yours has the suffering been；
The memory shall be ours。
A FRAGMENT
Awake！ arise！ the hour is late！
Angels are knocking at thy door！
They are in haste and cannot wait；
And once departed come no more。
Awake！ arise！ the athlete's arm
Loses its strength by too much rest；
The fallow land； the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best。
LOSS AND GAIN
When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained；
What I have missed with what attained；
Little room do I find for pride。
I am aware
How many days have been idly spent；
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside。
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise？
Defeat may be victory in disguise；
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide。
INSCRIPTION ON THE SHANKLIN FOUNTAIN
O traveller； stay thy weary feet；
Drink of this fountain； pure and sweet；
It flows for rich and poor the same。
Then go thy way； remembering still
The wayside well beneath the hill；
The cup of water in His name。
THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS
What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
From the harbor of Mazatlan？
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore；
Nothing more to master or man。
But to me； a dreamer of dreams；
To whom what is and what seems
Are often one and the same；
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange； wild melody；
And are something more than a name。
For bells are the voice of the church；
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts of young and old；
One sound to all； yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech；
And the meaning is manifold。
They are a voice of the Past；
Of an age that is fading fast；
Of a power austere and grand；
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o'er this western world；
And the Priest was lord of the land。
The chapel that once looked down
On the little seaport town
Has crumbled into the dust；
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro；
And are green with mould and rust。
〃Is； then； the old faith dead；〃
They say； 〃and in its stead
Is some new faith proclaimed；
That we are forced to remain
Naked to sun and rain；
Unsheltered and ashamed？
〃Once； in our tower aloof；
We rang over wall and roof
Our warnings and our complaints；
And round about us there
The white doves filled the air；
Like the white souls of the saints。
〃The saints！ Ah； have they grown
Forgetful of their own？
Are they asleep； or dead；
That open to the sky
Their ruined Missions lie；
No longer tenanted？
〃Oh； bring us back once more
The vanished days of yore；
When the world with faith was filled；
Bring back the fervid ze
