查看完整版本: 美国现代著名女诗人 ·米蕾---听一支贝多芬的交响曲、新生等诗篇

美国现代著名女诗人 ·米蕾---听一支贝多芬的交响曲、新生等诗篇

听一支贝多芬的交响曲
　　甜蜜美妙的音乐呀，请你别停！
　　请别把我再一次推回那世界。
　　只有同你一起，才有美和安宁，
　　人间才可信，人的目标才明确。
　　你这迷人的曲调机灵又慈祥，
　　已经使怨恨、吝啬和粗暴睡着，
　　像童话中那些厨师的下手一样－－
　　脸变得苍白木然，摊开着手脚。
　　这是世界上最最美好的时刻，
　　是苦难之树开出的宁静之花。
　　乐音哪，别抛弃我，让我活着，
　　活到我这城堡遇上末日而崩塌－－
　　让它在摧人老的太阳下被迷住。
　　我呀，我唯有音乐这城墙防护。

　埃德娜·圣文森特·米蕾（1892-1950），美国现代著名女诗人。诗集《新生与其他诗篇》被选入纽约图书馆175篇世纪图书，当代文学的里程碑24部之一。全集23首，已全部列入本帖之中。

Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease!
Reject me not into the world again.
With you alone is excellence and peace,
Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain.
Enchanted in your air benign and shrewd,
With limbs a-sprawl and empty faces pale,
The spiteful and the stingy and the rude
Sleep like the scullions in the fairy-tale.
This moment is the best the world can give:
The tranquil blossom on the tortured stem.
Reject me not, sweet sounds; oh, let me live,
Till Doom espy my towers and scatter them,
A city spell-bound under the aging sun.
Music my rampart, and my only one.

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2011-12-18 21:10 编辑 [/i]].

关于作者

埃德娜·圣文森特·米蕾（EtnaSt.VincentMillay，1892－1950），美国著名的现代女诗人。曾就读于纽约伯纳德学院和瓦萨学院，14岁开始发表诗歌，1912年因发表名诗“新生”（Renascence）而一举成名，并获得瓦萨学院的奖学金。1917年发表第一本诗集《新生及其他诗歌》（RenascenceandOtherPoems），同年大学毕业，在纽约艺术家集中的格林威治村以大胆、新派出名，但其诗作品却多以传统的韵律形式写成。她讴歌真挚的友情，也揭露世间的不平，唤起人们对劳苦大众的同情。她的诗擅长抒情，浅显易懂，情深、朴素、热烈，技巧纯熟，形式整齐，注重格律，修辞方面造诣颇高。著有童话故事诗《竖琴谣》（TheBalladoftheHarp－Weaver）、诗集《爱尔兰织布工人之歌及其他诗》、《雪地的鹿》和《猎人，哪个石场？》、《新诗集》等。此外，她还从事戏剧创作和翻译。她曾在1923年获得普利策诗歌奖，成为获此殊荣的第一位女性。米蕾一生作品丰富，尽管受到现代派的冷落，生前仍名利双收。.

Departure别离

It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.
走哪条道我不在意，
通向哪儿我不放在心里；
只要离开这伤心的房，
我必须走，无论去何方。
It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.
心里有什么我不知道，
脑中想什么也不知晓，
但是我身体亢奋要出发，
并不在意我双腿迈向哪。
I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.
但愿我能走它一夜又一天，
天亮时发现早已荒无人烟，
路上一条车辙都不见，
没有房屋不见行人面。
I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.
但愿我走得热血往上涌，
继而清醒，不再激动，
宽阔的海岸上，潮水退尽，
长满杂草的礁石裸露雨淋。
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care;
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
仓库或码头，我不在意
此路带我去何地；
我不在乎他们一片慌乱，
死在某个沟渠，蜷成一团。
"Is something the matter, dear," she said,
"That you sit at your work so silently?"
"No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea."
“怎么啦，亲爱的，”她说，
“你坐着干活一言不发？”
“不，妈妈，不，是线上打了个结。
水壶的水开了，我去泡茶。”

另一翻译：
出走 　　我才不在乎我将走哪条道； 　　这道通哪儿，这我也不在乎。 　　只求出这屋子，免得心碎掉； 　　我一定得走，得另找个去处。 　　我并不清楚我心里的东西， 　　对脑海里的念头也不清楚， 　　可是我就一心要起身离去－－ 　　脚走向哪儿这我可不在乎。 　　我但愿能走上一天又一宵， 　　黎明时来到个荒凉的地方， 　　那儿连路的影子也看不到， 　　也见不着屋顶和人的眼光。 　　愿我到头来走得血流如注， 　　从此就不动弹地一头倒下， 　　倒下在退潮后宽阔的滩涂， 　　那儿的荒草岩岸听凭雨打。 　　任凭我走的路引我到哪里， 　　任垃圾堆、码头我安之若素； 　　蜷缩的我倒毙在某条沟渠， 　　他们的大惊小怪我不在乎。 　　“出了什么事，亲爱的，”她说， 　　“你这样闷坐着干活是为啥？” 　　“没事，妈妈，我线上有结头。 　　水壶里已在响。我这就冲茶。”

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2011-12-14 10:17 编辑 [/i]].

我的唇吻过谁的唇，在哪里

埃德娜·圣文森特·米蕾
　　 我的唇吻过谁的唇，在哪里，
My ChunWen over who lips, where,
为什么，我已忘记，谁的手臂
Why, I have forgotten, who arm
我枕着直到天明，但今夜雨水
I pillowed the till itbemorrow, but rain tonight
满是鬼魂，敲打着窗子玻璃，
Is full of ghosts, banging on the window glass,
唉声叹气，倾听着我的回音，
Heaves a sigh, and listened to my echo.
我心中翻滚着安详的痛苦
My heart rolled serene pain
因为早已忘却的少年再也不
Because the young never forgotten
午夜里转身朝着我，喊我一声。
Midnight turned toward me, called me a ring.
孤独的树站立在冬寒之中，
Lonely trees stand in cold in,
它不知是什么鸟一只只消失，
It is not what bird vulture only disappeared,
只知树枝比以前更加冷清：
Know only branches more cold and cheerless: than ever
我说不出什么爱情来了又去；
I can't say what love come and go;
只知道夏季在我心中唱过
Only know the summer in my heart sing
一阵子，现在只剩下一片寂静。
For a while, and now only silence.

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2011-12-14 09:22 编辑 [/i]].

埃德娜·圣文森特·米蕾的一首十四行诗：倾听你所有的词语，而不只是我喜欢的一个词

Hearing your words, and not a word among them
By Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892–1950

Hearing your words, and not a word among them
Tuned to my liking, on a salty day
When inland woods were pushed by winds that flung them
Hissing to leeward like a ton of spray,
I thought how off Matinicus the tide
Came pounding in, came running through the Gut,
While from the Rock the warning whistle cried,
And children whimpered, and the doors blew shut;
There in the autumn when the men go forth,
With slapping skirts the island women stand
In gardens stripped and scattered, peering north,
With dahlia tubers dripping from the hand:
The wind of their endurance, driving south,
Flattened your words against your speaking mouth.

埃德娜·圣文森特·米蕾的一首十四行诗：

倾听你所有的词语，而不只是我喜欢的一个词
那天空气很咸
当风猛吹过内陆的树林
背风处似成千吨泡沫悉索细语，
潮水该从离马提尼可岛多么遥远的地方轰隆而至
冲过大瀑布，
而岩石那边警报的哨声在尖叫，
孩子们呜咽着，风关上了门；
那里，男人们在秋天离开，
岛上的女人们凝视着北方，裙摆鼓起
在花园中站立，稀疏凋零，
大丽菊块茎悬在手里：
她们的忍耐化成风，呼啸向南，
吹平你所有的词语，当你将口张开。.

春诵

热爱生活的人，对待春天就像珍惜自己的生命般真挚而执著。一丝毫不起眼的绿，一抹微不足道的青，都会使他眸子闪亮，盈满青春的光彩；心潮生辉，荡漾幸福的涟漪。春天对于热爱它的人，无时地刻不在散发着股股神奇的魔力和生命力。 　　春在田畴，松软的泥土散发着清新湿润的气息，冬憩后醒来的麦苗儿精神焕发，展现出一派蓬勃盎然的生机；渠水欢唱，如母爱的乳汁，与土地和麦苗的血液水乳交融。春在河畔，碧波清荡，鱼虾畅游，蛙鼓抑扬弄喉嗓，柳丝婆娑舞倩影，阳光水波交相辉映，洒落捧捧金和银。春在天空，燕语呢喃，蝴蝶翩跹，风筝高飞，浓浓春意弥漫洁白的云朵间，甜脆笑声穿梭浩淼九天。春在果园，红杏流火，桃花漫霞，梨树飞雪，蜂蝶追逐喧嚷，酝酿生活的甘甜和芬芳…… 　　春天是一缕轻轻吟唱的和风，一捧温暖明亮的阳光；春天是声声婉转清脆的鸟语，片片馥郁醉人的花香；春天是青春草尖上的一颗露珠，红红花朵上的一抹彩霞；春天是种子破土而出时拱动的力，树木拔节时喧响的节奏；春天是透明纯净的梦，火热沸腾的歌，灵感流溢的诗；春天是孩子脸蛋上的天真无邪，姑娘面颊上的秀美羞怯；春天是我们用汗水、勤劳和智慧栽种的一茬茬的希望、梦幻和理想。 　　热爱春天，播种春天，采撷春天吧！用我们的言传身教去呵护春天、关心春天，用我们的心血精力去编织春天、灌溉春天，呵护关心春天的风吟鸟啼柳绿花红，编织灌溉春天的田园风光妖娆风情，让春天常驻我们身边，永驻我们心灵深处的爱心家园…….

《午后在山麓上》（Afternoon on a Hill）
　　午后在山麓上  我将是最开心的人儿  　沐浴着阳光！
　　我将触摸一百鲜花  一朵也不会碰伤。
　　我将用宁静的双眼  　凝视云彩和崖壁；　看风儿吹弯青草，青草复而直立。
　　当城镇的灯火初放，飘上山麓，我将标明哪一盏是我家，然后向山下移步！　
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass.
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down.

另一译文：
沐浴阳光，
最为欢快！
轻抚百花，
不忍采摘。
静静观赏，
白云峭壁；
风行草偃，
风过草起。
夜临小镇，
华灯初上。
识得我家，
走下山岗。

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2011-12-14 09:43 编辑 [/i]].

The first fig

The first fig
(By  Edna St. Vincent Millay )
My candle burns at both ends;
it will not last the night;
But ah,my foes, and oh,my friends-
It gives a lovely light!

第一颗无花果
(埃德娜.文森特.默蕾)
我的蜡烛两头一起燃烧
虽然它熬不过今夜
不管是敌是友
它都会奉献美丽的光芒.

The Dream 梦

The Dream 梦
　　—Edna St Vincent Millay埃德娜·米蕾
　　 　
　　Love, if I weep it will not matter,
　　And if you laugh I shall not care;
　　Foolish am I to think about it,
　　But it is good to feel you there.
　　爱，如果我哭泣，这没有什么
    如果你嘲笑，我也不会在意；
　　我这样想实在是有点傻气，
　　但感到你在那里令我欣喜。
　　Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, --
　　White and awful the moonlight reached
　　Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
　　There was a shutter loose, -- it screeched!
　　爱，睡眠之中我梦到醒来，—
　　惨白瘮人月光投在地板上，
　　不知哪里，不知哪里有一个
　　百叶窗松动，—
    Swung in the wind, -- and no wind blowing! --
　　I was afraid, and turned to you,
　　Put out my hand to you for comfort, --
　　And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,
　　它在风中摆动，—却没有刮风！—
　　我一阵恐惧，就翻身面对你，
　　伸出手臂想得到你的慰藉，—
　　而你却不见了！冰冷如露滴，
　　Under my hand the moonlight lay!
　　Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
　　But if I weep it will not matter, --
　　Ah, it is good to feel you there!
　　月光就这样躺在我的手下！
　　爱，如果你嘲笑我不在意
　　但如果我哭泣也没有关系，
　　啊，感觉你在那里令我欣喜！
　　.

When the Year Grows Old 当时光变老

-Edna St Vincent Millay米蕾

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October -- November --
How she disliked the cold!
我记不住但是还记得
当“年”变得老态龙钟--
十月—十一月—
她多不喜欢天寒地冻！
She used to watch the swallows
Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh.
她曾观看燕子
高空俯冲急，
在窗前转身
发出尖厉的叹息。
And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound.
当棕色的树叶
破碎在地，
当烟囱中的风
声声凄厉。
She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget --
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!
她环顾四周
但愿我能忘记--
那恐惧的眼神
坐在网帐里！
Oh, beautiful at nightfall
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and fro!
哦，美丽的黄昏
雪花缓缓飘落！
美丽的光枝
雪花轻轻抚摸！
But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!
但是呼呼的炉火，
暖和的毛皮，
和沸腾的水壶
才合她的意！
I cannot but remember
When the year grows old --
October -- November --
How she disliked the cold!
我记不住但是还记得
当“年”变得老态龙钟--
十月—十一月—
她多不喜欢天寒地冻！.

Ebb退潮

-Edna St Vincent Millay米蕾

I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.
你的爱已死，
我心如何我自知:
它像一堵空墙
拦住了潮水过后
留下的一点水，
这微温的一点水，
正在我心中干涸。.

A Visit to the Asylum访疯人院

—Edna St Vincent Millay米蕾

Once from a big, big building,
When I was small, small,
The queer folk in the windows
Would smile at me and call.
在我很小很小的时候。
从一幢很大房子的窗，
看到一些奇怪的老乡，
对着我微笑又叫又嚷
And in the hard wee gardens
Such pleasant men would hoe:
"Sir, may we touch the little girl's hair!" --
It was so red, you know.
在土地干硬的小花园
这些农夫们正在锄草：
“先生，我们能摸小姑娘的头发！”—
它是这样红，你要知道。
They cut me coloured asters
With shears so sharp and neat,
They brought me grapes and plums and pears
And pretty cakes to eat.
他们用锋利的大剪刀
给我剪下彩色紫苑花，
他们给我拿来葡萄、李子、
梨子和可口的蛋糕叫我吃。
And out of all the windows,
No matter where we went,
The merriest eyes would follow me
And make me compliment.
无论我们去哪里，
从所有的窗，
都有最愉快的眼光跟着我
使我赞扬。
There were a thousand windows,
All latticed up and down.
And up to all the windows,
When we went back to town,
足有一千扇窗，
上下排列像格子一样。
当我们回城时，
我们看到了所有的窗。
The queer folk put their faces,
As gentle as could be;
"Come again, little girl!" they called, and I
Called back, "You come see me!"
奇怪老乡们的面孔，
都尽可能地显得文雅；
“小姑娘，再来啊！”他们喊道，
我也回答，“你们来看我呀！”.

Alms施舍

My heart is what it was before
A house where people come and go,
But it is winter with your love:
The sashes are beset with snow.
我的心依旧那样
一幢人们来去的房，
但冬天连着你的爱：
雪花洒满它的窗框。
I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again,
But it is winter with your love:
The frost is thick upon the pane.
我点灯把窗帘拉上，
吹吹煤炭炉火旺，
但冬天连着你的爱：
窗玻璃结上了厚霜。
I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs.
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.
我知寒冬降：
树叶干枯枝荒凉。
我抬眼望望你的爱，
将我的植物搬回房。
I water them and turn them south,
And snap the dead brown from the stem,
But it is winter with your love:
I only tend and water them.
浇水把它们转南向，
从茎上撕下枯叶黄，
但冬天连着你的爱：
我只能浇水照料忙。
There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,
曾经我站着观看
坏脾气的小麻雀打斗；
我爱上那个乞丐，他把食物拿走，
他说的话我记心头。
I stood and watched him out of sight;
Today I reach around the door
And set the bowl upon the step.
My heart is what it was before,
我站着看他去远方；
今天我走到门旁
把碗放在台阶上。
我的心依旧那样。
But it is winter with your love:
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window--and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.
但冬天连着你的爱：
我把面包屑撒窗台，
关上窗—至于鸟儿
吃不吃，我管不过来。.

Second Fig 第二个无花果

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
坚固岩石上矗立着丑陋的房：
来看沙滩上我建的宫殿闪光！.

Sorrow悲伤

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, --
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
悲伤如连绵雨丝
击打我的心。
痛苦中人们抽搐尖叫，—
一直到黎明；
不增加不减小，
无开始无终了。
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.
人们盛装进城去；
我坐在椅上。
思绪缓慢又黯淡：
立不定、坐不安，
真不知什么衣服
和鞋可以穿。.

Lament 悲叹

Listen, children,
Your father is dead.
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets;
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants.
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there:
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco.
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank;
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with.
Life must go on
And the dead be forgotten;
Life must go on
Though good men die.
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine.
Life must go on;
I forget just why.
听好，孩子们，
你们的爸爸已经去世。
我用他的旧外套，
给你们改成小上衣；
用他的旧长裤，
给你们改成小裤子。
他的衣兜里
曾放过这些东西：
伴有烟草屑的
钥匙和硬币。
丹可以把这些硬币
存在银行里，
安妮可以用钥匙
敲出动听的声音。
生活要继续
已故者要忘记；
生活要继续
虽然好人会死。
安妮，吃早餐；
丹，吃药。
生活要继续；
我只是忘记为什么。.

Sonnet III: Mindful of you the sodden earth 十四行诗3：不忘你浸润大地

Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,
And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow
Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing
The summer through, and each departing wing,
And all the nests that the bared branches show,
And all winds that in any weather blow,
And all the storms that the four seasons bring.
You go no more on your exultant feet
Up paths that only mist and morning knew,
Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat
Of a bird's wings too high in air to view,--
But you were something more than young and sweet
And fair,--and the long year remembers you.
不忘你春天浸润之大地，
琪花瑶草成长在此春季，
尘道，蓟草，满月缓缓升起，
莺声燕语一路唱到夏季；
鸟儿筑巢光秃树枝之上，
天空中它们正展翅翱翔；
阴晴天气风儿或紧或轻，
四季变换暴风雨雪降临；
你欢快的步履踏何小道，
则唯有雾霭与清晨知晓；
你观风，听鸟儿振翅之音，
因它们飞得太高看不清—
但你不止年轻甜蜜美丽，—
岁月悠悠永远将你牢记，.

Ashes of Life 生活之灰烬

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through,--
There's little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me,--and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,--
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There's this little street and this little house.
爱已逝，留下我和同样的日子；
我要吃，我要睡, —那个夜晚就在此！
但，啊！—睁眼躺在床，听时钟缓慢滴答响！
白昼又要降! —越来越近的曙光！
爱已逝，留下我，我彷徨；
这个、那个或你将怎样于我都一样；
但是在完成我开始和留下的一切前, —
我目之所及都是无用之物。
爱已逝，留下我, —邻人敲门借东西，
生活永远继续就像啮齿的耗子, —
明—天，明—天，明—天，明—天
只有这条小小的街道和小小的房。.

Spring春

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
四月，为何目的你要重返？
美尚不够艳。
你艰难张开的红叶点点
已令我激动难掩。
我知我所知。
我观赏穗状番红花时，
烈日晒颈项。
泥土正芬芳，
显然无人死亡。
但这又怎样？
不仅有蛆虫在地下吞噬
尸体的脑浆。
生命本身
空茫茫，—
一只空杯，一段未铺地毯的楼梯。
它不足以每年下此山岗，
四月来临，如白痴一样，
胡言乱语把花儿撒满地上。.

Elegy Before Death临终挽歌

There will be rose and rhododendron
When you are dead and under ground;
Still will be heard from white syringas
Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;
当你辞世葬地下，
会有玫瑰杜鹃花；
白紫丁香花头沉，
阳光蜜蜂嗡嗡声。
Still will the tamaracks be raining
After the rain has ceased, and still
Will there be robins in the stubble,
Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.
落叶松下雨淋淋，
此时雨过天已晴，
断茬麦地知更鸟，
葱绿山坡羊群草。
Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;
Nothing will know that you are gone,
Saving alone some sullen plough-land
None but yourself sets foot upon;
春无痛苦秋无虑；
无甚知道你离去，
闷闷不乐孤耕地，
踏足此田唯有你。
Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed
Nothing will know that you are dead,
These, and perhaps a useless wagon
Standing beside some tumbled shed.
除却猪草和春菊，
无甚知晓你别去，
花草陪伴破马车，
站立倒塌库房侧。
Oh, there will pass with your great passing
Little of beauty not your own,
Only the light from common water,
Only the grace from simple stone!
哦，随你逝去之美丽，
并非只有你自己，
唯留江河之光华，
仅余碑石之优雅。.

Mariposa逗牛

Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.
群蝶白与蓝，
吾俩遊此田。
心碎执汝手。
死神将临一二天。
All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour:
Mark the transient butterfly,
How he hangs upon the flower.
最后时辰临，
一切变灰烬：
留意彼蝴蝶，
如何悬吊于花心。
Suffer me to take your hand.
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn is in the sky.
Whether I be false or true,
Death comes in a day or two.
心碎执汝手。
痛苦珍爱汝，
直待曙光现。
无论吾真伪，
死神将临一二天。.

Tavern客栈

I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
我想在高山之巓
拥有一家客栈，
灰眼睛的人们进来
可以坐下休息交谈。
那里会有很多盘子和茶碗,
所有偶然上山的
灰眼睛的人们,
可以进来躲避风寒。
旅行者鼾声入眠，
梦想着旅途的终点;
而我要半夜起身,
给炉火加煤添炭。
是啊，这是奇怪的想象—
但那是因为很久以前
那位教诲我做好事的人
就有两只灰色的眼。.

Sonnet II: Time does not bring relief十四行诗二：时间不能抚慰

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
时间不能抚慰；你们都在欺骗，
说啥时间会将我的痛苦冲淡！
我在雨水的哭泣之中思念他；
我在潮水的波纹中之需要他；
山坡上的陈年积雪都已融化，
街巷里去年的树叶燃成灰烬；
唯去年苦涩的爱仍积聚我心，
我冥顽不化坚守自己的爱情。
足有上百个地方我不敢前往—
浸满对他的记忆我实在难忘。
宽慰地进入某些寂静的地方—
他从未在此踏足或焕发容光，
我说，“这儿未留下对他的记忆！”
就这样痛苦地站着将他回忆。.

God's World上帝的世界

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
哦，世界，我不能抱你太紧！
你的风，你灰色寥廓的苍穹！
你滚动升起的雾霭！
这个秋日，你的树林，垂下疼痛
都在与颜色一起哭泣！那荒凉的峭壁
粉碎！举起倾斜的黑色悬崖！
世界，世界，我不能靠你太近！
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall.
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
我久知它的壮丽辉煌，
但是这点我从不知晓；
这里如此的激情
似将我分隔。上帝，我真怕
今年你把世界妆扮得太美丽。
我的灵魂几乎离去，—任它去。
没有燃烧的叶；求求你，勿让鸟啼。.

And you as well must die, belovèd dust 灰烬也须死

And you as well must die, belovèd dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell, this wonder fled,
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how belovèd above all else that dies.
你也必须死，亲爱的灰烬，
你所有的美丽无可代替；
无瑕的，有力的手，完美的头，
火焰和钢铁的身驱，在死亡
的强风前，或他秋季的霜冻下，
将会像任何叶子，比起第一张落叶，
不那么容易死亡，这种惊奇逃离，
改变，疏远，崩溃，失去。
在你的时间里我的爱也帮不了你。
尽管我所有的爱，你将在那一天
起身，朦胧地从空中漫步下来，
像无人照料的花儿一样，
这与你曾经是多么美丽无关，
也与以上消逝的可爱的一切无关。.

Rosemary迷迭香

For the sake of some things
That be now no more
I will strew rushes
On my chamber-floor,
I will plant bergamot
At my kitchen-door.
为了某些现在
没有的东西
我会在我房间的地板
撒满灯芯草，
在我厨房的门边
种上佛手柑。
For the sake of dim things
That were once so plain
I will set a barrel
Out to catch the rain,
I will hang an iron pot
on an iron crane.
为了曾经是那么普通
的模糊的东西
我会把一个桶放到
外面接雨水，
把一个铁罐
挂在起重机上。
Many things be dead and gone
That were brave and gay;
For the sake of these things
I will learn to say,
"An it please you, gentle sirs,"
"Alack! and "Well-a-day!"
很多勇敢欢乐的事
都已烟消云散；
为了这些事
我会学着说，
“温柔的先生们，请你们，”
“呜呼哀哉！过好每一天！”.

To a Young Poet 致一年轻诗人

Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird.
Bird and wing together
Go down, one feather.
时间不能折断鸟身上的翅膀。
鸟和翅膀一起
下降，一根羽毛。
No thing that ever flew,
Not the lark, not you,
Can die as others do.
曾经飞翔过的，
无论是云雀，还是你，
都不会像其它东西那样死亡。.

Kin to Sorrow近悲伤

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door --
Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow --
And what does Sorrow care
For the rosemary
Or the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
Are we kin?
That so oft upon my door --
Oh, come in!
我与悲伤同族？
悲伤经常
落在我的门环上—
既不轻也不响，
但就像长久的习惯一样，
受控于悲伤的手掌？
金盏花围绕脚步，
迷迭香绽放，
此时悲伤降—
悲伤会在意
那里的金盏花
或迷迭香？
我们是一族吗？
悲伤如此经常来到我的门上—
哦！进来吧，悲伤！.

Portrait by a Neighbour 邻居画的肖像

Before she has her floor swept
Or her dishes done,
Any day you'll find her
A-sunning in the sun!
在她清扫地板
或洗过碗碟之前，
任何日子里你会发现
她在阳光下神采熠熠！
It's long after midnight,
Her key's in the lock,
And you'll never see her chimney smoke
Till past ten o'clock!
午夜后很久，
她才把钥匙插入门锁中，
你从未看到她家的烟囱冒烟
直到晚上十点钟。
She digs in her garden
With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon,
她在花园里掘土
用的是铲和锹，
又在月光下给
懒惰的莴苣锄草。
She walks up the walk
like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
And pays you back cream!
她走在路上
就像女人梦游，
她忘记借过白脱
却还你奶油！
Her lawn looks like a meadow,
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne's Lace!
她的草坪像个草场，
如果她在那里割草
会留下三叶草
和安妮女王的蕾丝！.

Lines for a Grave-Stone碑文

Man alive, that mournst thy lot,
Desiring what thou hast not got,
Money, beauty, love, what not;
活着的人，哀悼你的命运，
渴望你未得到的东西，
金钱，美女和爱情。
Deeming it blesseder to be
A rotted man, than live to see
So rude a sky as covers thee;
他认为逝者幸运，
而不愿活着看见
天空这样无礼的把你覆盖；
Deeming thyself of all unblest
And wretched souls the wretchedest,
Longing to die and be at rest;
他认为你自己不幸
不幸的灵魂真是不幸，
渴望死亡终得安息；
Know: that however grim the fate
Which sent thee forth to meditate
Upon my enviable state,
知道：无论命运多么严酷
将你送去沉思
令我羡慕不已，
Here lieth one who would resign
Gladly his lot, to shoulder thine.
Give me thy coat; get into mine.
这里躺着一人他高兴地
放弃他的命运，承担你的命运。
把你的外套给我；穿上我的。.

City Trees城市树

The trees along this city street
Save for the traffic and the trains,
Would make a sound as thin and sweet
As trees in country lanes.
除了交通和火车，
城市的行道树
发出轻柔而悦耳的声音
好似乡间小路的树。
And people standing in their shade
Out of a shower, undoubtedly
Would hear such music as is made
Upon a country tree.
行人站立在树荫下
阵雨初歇，毫无疑问
可以听到这样的音乐，
恰如发自一棵乡间的树
Oh, little leaves that are so dumb
Against the shrieking city air,
I watch you when the wind has come, -
I know what sound is there.
啊，小小树叶多沉默
面对城市之喧嚣，
风儿吹来我注视你，—
发何声音，我知道。.

Inland内陆

People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound
人们在内陆建房，
人们买块宅基地，
就在那里建幢房，
远离海岸和声响—
Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore --
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?
空心礁岩吞海浪，
惊涛裂岸震天响—
他们渴望？如我想
再闻咸味的海洋？
People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbor's head,
What do they long for, as I long for, --
Starting up in my inland bed,
人们惊醒不为浪，
码头突沿船身撞，
他们渴望？如我想
出发躺在陆地床，
Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning --
One salt taste of the sea once more?
撞上了狭窄的墙，
发现不是门和窗，
上帝保佑勿溺亡—
再把咸涩海水尝？.

太美了，谢谢！收藏！.

《我知道我只是夏天而已》

《我知道我只是夏天而已》

我知道对于你的心而言,
我只是夏天而并非四季;
爱人,你需从别处获取点
我所不具备的高雅情趣.
我没有累累的金果出售,
也没冬天般的智慧聪明;
可是我爱你爱得太长久,
至今怀着春的甜蜜心情.
听我说:爱人,夏天已走远,
我将随无声的鼓点悄离.
待明夏来临再回你身边,
你将重新赞叹玫瑰,鸟啼.
否则不久将来,你将寻觅
属于你自己的另一夏季..

《爱情并非一切》

《爱情并非一切》

爱情并非一切:非肉非酒
非睡眠,也非雨中一片瓦,
更非漂浮桅杆托起人流
起起落落复又上上下下;
爱情不能代替肺的呼吸,
不能净血将断骨接起来;
但仍然有许多人想去死     
就在此刻,仅因为没有爱.
很有可能在困难的时辰,
迫于痛苦为解脱而呻吟
或因缺往日果断而伤神,
我会出卖你的爱换安宁,
或用今夜的记忆换食物.
也许吧.我想我还不至于..

《野天鹅》

《野天鹅》

野天鹅飞过时我向内心探去。
看到什么以前不曾见过的？
多一个或少一个疑问罢了；
没有什么比得上野鸟高飞。
疲倦的心，不断地死去活来，
闷屋子，我锁上门离你而去。  
野天鹅，飞过小城，再一次
飞过小城，拖著双腿哭著飞！.

《退潮》

自从你的爱消失
我知道我的心象什么：
它象一个中空的礁石
守著涨潮时留下的
一汪水，
一汪不冷不热的水，
从边缘朝里枯竭。.

《星期四》

假如星期三我爱过你，
      那么，对你有何意义？
星期四我已不爱你─
      确确实实。

你为何要来抱怨
      我无法理解你。
星期三我爱过你，─是的─但那
      关我何事？.

《不爱探险的人》

我家门前有条路
太诱人了我反而没去探险。
有次我问母亲 ─ 她说
如果你沿著这条路走
它会把你带到牛奶工的门前。
(这就是为何我没旅行得更远。).

《囚犯》

好吧，
去吧！
名称里有什么名堂？
我想我会被关在里面
如同被关在外面一样！.

《夜半油灯》

剪吧，如果你愿意，用迟钝的睡眠之刀，
      每天剪一半，我的朋友， ─
时间从我生命中取出的岁月，
      他会从灯芯的另一端拿走！.

Renascence 新生

1. Renascence   
  
ALL I could see from where I stood  
Was three long mountains and a wood;  
I turned and looked the other way,  
And saw three islands in a bay.  
So with my eyes I traced the line         5
Of the horizon, thin and fine,  
Straight around till I was come  
Back to where I’d started from;  
And all I saw from where I stood  
Was three long mountains and a wood.         10
Over these things I could not see:  
These were the things that bounded me;  
And I could touch them with my hand,  
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.  
And all at once things seemed so small         15
My breath came short, and scarce at all.  
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;  
Miles and miles above my head;  
So here upon my back I’ll lie  
And look my fill into the sky.         20
And so I looked, and, after all,  
The sky was not so very tall.  
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,  
And—sure enough!—I see the top!  
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;         25
I ’most could touch it with my hand!  
And reaching up my hand to try,  
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.  
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity  
Came down and settled over me;         30
Forced back my scream into my chest,  
Bent back my arm upon my breast,  
And, pressing of the Undefined  
The definition on my mind,  
Held up before my eyes a glass         35
Through which my shrinking sight did pass  
Until it seemed I must behold  
Immensity made manifold;  
Whispered to me a word whose sound  
Deafened the air for worlds around,         40
And brought unmuffled to my ears  
The gossiping of friendly spheres,  
The creaking of the tented sky,  
The ticking of Eternity.  
I saw and heard and knew at last         45
The How and Why of all things, past,  
And present, and forevermore.  
The Universe, cleft to the core,  
Lay open to my probing sense  
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence         50
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck  
At the great wound, and could not pluck  
My lips away till I had drawn  
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!  
For my omniscience paid I toll         55
In infinite remorse of soul.  
All sin was of my sinning, all  
Atoning mine, and mine the gall  
Of all regret. Mine was the weight  
Of every brooded wrong, the hate         60
That stood behind each envious thrust,  
Mine every greed, mine every lust.  
And all the while for every grief,  
Each suffering, I craved relief  
With individual desire,—         65
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire  
About a thousand people crawl;  
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!  
A man was starving in Capri;  
He moved his eyes and looked at me;         70
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,  
And knew his hunger as my own.  
I saw at sea a great fog bank  
Between two ships that struck and sank;  
A thousand screams the heavens smote;         75
And every scream tore through my throat.  
No hurt I did not feel, no death  
That was not mine; mine each last breath  
That, crying, met an answering cry  
From the compassion that was I.         80
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;  
Mine, pity like the pity of God.  
Ah, awful weight! Infinity  
Pressed down upon the finite Me!  
My anguished spirit, like a bird,         85
Beating against my lips I heard;  
Yet lay the weight so close about  
There was no room for it without.  
And so beneath the weight lay I  
And suffered death, but could not die.         90
  
Long had I lain thus, craving death,  
When quietly the earth beneath  
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great  
At last had grown the crushing weight,  
Into the earth I sank till I         95
Full six feet under ground did lie,  
And sank no more,—there is no weight  
Can follow here, however great.  
From off my breast I felt it roll,  
And as it went my tortured soul         100
Burst forth and fled in such a gust  
That all about me swirled the dust.  
  
Deep in the earth I rested now;  
Cool is its hand upon the brow  
And soft its breast beneath the head         105
Of one who is so gladly dead.  
And all at once, and over all  
The pitying rain began to fall;  
I lay and heard each pattering hoof  
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,         110
And seemed to love the sound far more  
Than ever I had done before.  
For rain it hath a friendly sound  
To one who’s six feet under ground;  
And scarce the friendly voice or face:         115
A grave is such a quiet place.  
  
The rain, I said, is kind to come  
And speak to me in my new home.  
I would I were alive again  
To kiss the fingers of the rain,         120
To drink into my eyes the shine  
Of every slanting silver line,  
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze  
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.  
For soon the shower will be done,         125
And then the broad face of the sun  
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth  
Until the world with answering mirth  
Shakes joyously, and each round drop  
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.         130
How can I bear it; buried here,  
While overhead the sky grows clear  
And blue again after the storm?  
O, multi-colored, multiform,  
Beloved beauty over me,         135
That I shall never, never see  
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,  
That I shall never more behold!  
Sleeping your myriad magics through,  
Close-sepulchred away from you!         140
O God, I cried, give me new birth,  
And put me back upon the earth!  
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd  
And let the heavy rain, down-poured  
In one big torrent, set me free,         145
Washing my grave away from me!  
  
I ceased; and through the breathless hush  
That answered me, the far-off rush  
Of herald wings came whispering  
Like music down the vibrant string         150
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!  
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash  
The startled storm-clouds reared on high  
And plunged in terror down the sky,  
And the big rain in one black wave         155
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.  
I know not how such things can be;  
I only know there came to me  
A fragrance such as never clings  
To aught save happy living things;         160
A sound as of some joyous elf  
Singing sweet songs to please himself,  
And, through and over everything,  
A sense of glad awakening.  
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,         165
Whispering to me I could hear;  
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips  
Brushed tenderly across my lips,  
Laid gently on my sealèd sight,  
And all at once the heavy night         170
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—  
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,  
A last long line of silver rain,  
A sky grown clear and blue again.  
And as I looked a quickening gust         175
Of wind blew up to me and thrust  
Into my face a miracle  
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—  
I know not how such things can be!—  
I breathed my soul back into me.         180
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I  
And hailed the earth with such a cry  
As is not heard save from a man  
Who has been dead, and lives again.  
About the trees my arms I wound;         185
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;  
I raised my quivering arms on high;  
I laughed and laughed into the sky,  
Till at my throat a strangling sob  
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb         190
Sent instant tears into my eyes;  
O God, I cried, no dark disguise  
Can e’er hereafter hide from me  
Thy radiant identity!  
Thou canst not move across the grass         195
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,  
Nor speak, however silently,  
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.  
I know the path that tells Thy way  
Through the cool eve of every day;         200
God, I can push the grass apart  
And lay my finger on Thy heart!  
  
The world stands out on either side  
No wider than the heart is wide;  
Above the world is stretched the sky,—         205
No higher than the soul is high.  
The heart can push the sea and land  
Farther away on either hand;  
The soul can split the sky in two,  
And let the face of God shine through.         210
But East and West will pinch the heart  
That can not keep them pushed apart;  
And he whose soul is flat—the sky  
Will cave in on him by and by..

Interim 间歇

THE ROOM is full of you!—As I came in       
And closed the door behind me, all at once       
A something in the air, intangible,       
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!—       

Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed                5
Each other room’s dear personality.       
The heavy scent of damp, funereal flowers,—       
The very essence, hush-distilled, of Death—       
Has strangled that habitual breath of home       
Whose expiration leaves all houses dead;                10
And wheresoe’er I look is hideous change.       
Save here. Here ’twas as if a weed-choked gate       
Had opened at my touch, and I had stepped       
Into some long-forgot, enchanted, strange,       
Sweet garden of a thousand years ago                15
And suddenly thought, “I have been here before!”       

You are not here. I know that you are gone,       
And will not ever enter here again.       
And yet it seems to me, if I should speak,       
Your silent step must wake across the hall;                20
If I should turn my head, that your sweet eyes       
Would kiss me from the door.—So short a time       
To teach my life its transposition to       
This difficult and unaccustomed key!—       
The room is as you left it; your last touch—                25
A thoughtless pressure, knowing not itself       
As saintly—hallows now each simple thing;       
Hallows and glorifies, and glows between       
The dust’s grey fingers like a shielded light.       

There is your book, just as you laid it down,                30
Face to the table,—I cannot believe       
That you are gone!—Just then it seemed to me       
You must be here. I almost laughed to think       
How like reality the dream had been;       
Yet knew before I laughed, and so was still.                35
That book, outspread, just as you laid it down!       
Perhaps you thought, “I wonder what comes next,       
And whether this or this will be the end”;       
So rose, and left it, thinking to return.       

Perhaps that chair, when you arose and passed                40
Out of the room, rocked silently a while       
Ere it again was still. When you were gone       
Forever from the room, perhaps that chair,       
Stirred by your movement, rocked a little while,       
Silently, to and fro…                45

And here are the last words your fingers wrote,       
Scrawled in broad characters across a page       
In this brown book I gave you. Here your hand,       
Guiding your rapid pen, moved up and down.       
Here with a looping knot you crossed a “t,”                50
And here another like it, just beyond       
These two eccentric “e’s.” You were so small,       
And wrote so brave a hand!
                            How strange it seems       
That of all words these are the words you chose!       
And yet a simple choice; you did not know                55
You would not write again. If you had known—       
But then, it does not matter,—and indeed       
If you had known there was so little time       
You would have dropped your pen and come to me       
And this page would be empty, and some phrase                60
Other than this would hold my wonder now.       
Yet, since you could not know, and it befell       
That these are the last words your fingers wrote,       
There is a dignity some might not see       
In this, “I picked the first sweet-pea to-day.”                65
To-day! Was there an opening bud beside it       
You left until to-morrow?—O my love,       
The things that withered,—and you came not back!       
That day you filled this circle of my arms       
That now is empty. (O my empty life!)                70
That day—that day you picked the first sweet-pea,—       
And brought it in to show me! I recall       
With terrible distinctness how the smell       
Of your cool gardens drifted in with you.       
I know, you held it up for me to see                75
And flushed because I looked not at the flower,       
But at your face; and when behind my look       
You saw such unmistakable intent       
You laughed and brushed your flower against my lips.       
(You were the fairest thing God ever made,                80
I think.) And then your hands above my heart       
Drew down its stem into a fastening,       
And while your head was bent I kissed your hair.       
I wonder if you knew. (Beloved hands!       
Somehow I cannot seem to see them still.                85
Somehow I cannot seem to see the dust       
In your bright hair.) What is the need of Heaven       
When earth can be so sweet?—If only God       
Had let us love,—and show the world the way!       
Strange cancellings must ink th’ eternal books                90
When love-crossed-out will bring the answer right!       
That first sweet-pea! I wonder where it is.       
It seems to me I laid it down somewhere,       
And yet,—I am not sure. I am not sure,       
Even, if it was white or pink; for then                95
’Twas much like any other flower to me,       
Save that it was the first. I did not know,       
Then, that it was the last. If I had known—       
But then, it does not matter. Strange how few,       
After all’s said and done, the things that are                100
Of moment.
            Few indeed! When I can make       
Of ten small words a rope to hang the world!       
“I had you and I have you now no more.”       
There, there it dangles,—where’s the little truth       
That can for long keep footing under that                105
When its slack syllables tighten to a thought?       
Here, let me write it down! I wish to see       
Just how a thing like that will look on paper!       

“I had you and I have you now no more.”       

O little words, how can you run so straight                110
Across the page, beneath the weight you bear?       
How can you fall apart, whom such a theme       
Has bound together, and hereafter aid       
In trivial expression, that have been       
So hideously dignified?—Would God                115
That tearing you apart would tear the thread       
I strung you on! Would God—O God, my mind       
Stretches asunder on this merciless rack       
Of imagery! O, let me sleep a while!       
Would I could sleep, and wake to find me back                120
In that sweet summer afternoon with you.       
Summer? ’Tis summer still by the calendar!       
How easily could God, if He so willed,       
Set back the world a little turn or two!       
Correct its griefs, and bring its joys again!                125

We were so wholly one I had not thought       
That we could die apart. I had not thought       
That I could move,—and you be stiff and still!       
That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb!       
I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof                130
In some firm fabric, woven in and out;       
Your golden filaments in fair design       
Across my duller fibre. And to-day       
The shining strip is rent; the exquisite       
Fine pattern is destroyed; part of your heart                135
Aches in my breast; part of my heart lies chilled       
In the damp earth with you. I have been torn       
In two, and suffer for the rest of me.       
What is my life to me? And what am I       
To life,—a ship whose star has guttered out?                140
A Fear that in the deep night starts awake       
Perpetually, to find its senses strained       
Against the taut strings of the quivering air,       
Awaiting the return of some dread chord?       

Dark, Dark, is all I find for metaphor;                145
All else were contrast,—save that contrast’s wall       
Is down, and all opposed things flow together       
Into a vast monotony, where night       
And day, and frost and thaw, and death and life,       
Are synonyms. What now—what now to me                150
Are all the jabbering birds and foolish flowers       
That clutter up the world? You were my song!       
Now, let discord scream! You were my flower!       
Now let the world grow weeds! For I shall not       
Plant things above your grave—(the common balm                155
Of the conventional woe for its own wound!)       
Amid sensations rendered negative       
By your elimination stands to-day,       
Certain, unmixed, the element of grief;       
I sorrow; and I shall not mock my truth                160
With travesties of suffering, nor seek       
To effigy its incorporeal bulk       
In little wry-faced images of woe.       

I cannot call you back; and I desire       
No utterance of my immaterial voice.                165
I cannot even turn my face this way       
Or that, and say, “My face is turned to you”;       
I know not where you are, I do not know       
If heaven hold you or if earth transmute,       
Body and soul, you into earth again;                170
But this I know:—not for one second’s space       
Shall I insult my sight with visionings       
Such as the credulous crowd so eager-eyed       
Beholds, self-conjured in the empty air.       
Let the world wail! Let drip its easy tears!                175
My sorrow shall be dumb!       

—What do I say?       
God! God!—God pity me! Am I gone mad       
That I should spit upon a rosary?       
Am I become so shrunken? Would to God                180
I too might feel that frenzied faith whose touch       
Makes temporal the most enduring grief;       
Though it must walk awhile, as is its wont,       
With wild lamenting! Would I too might weep       
Where weeps the world and hangs its piteous wreaths                185
For its new dead! Not Truth, but Faith, it is       
That keeps the world alive. If all at once       
Faith were to slacken,—that unconscious faith       
Which must, I know, yet be the corner-stone       
Of all believing,—birds now flying fearless                190
Across would drop in terror to the earth;       
Fishes would drown; and the all-governing reins       
Would tangle in the frantic hands of God       
And the worlds gallop headlong to destruction!       

O God, I see it now, and my sick brain                195
Staggers and swoons! How often over me       
Flashes this breathlessness of sudden sight       
In which I see the universe unrolled       
Before me like a scroll and read thereon       
Chaos and Doom, where helpless planets whirl                200
Dizzily round and round and round and round,       
Like tops across a table, gathering speed       
With every spin, to waver on the edge       
One instant—looking over—and the next       
To shudder and lurch forward out of sight—

    .    .    .    .    .    .                205

Ah, I am worn out—I am wearied out—       
It is too much—I am but flesh and blood,       
And I must sleep. Though you were dead again,       
I am but flesh and blood, and I must sleep..

The Suicide 自杀

“CURSE thee, Life, I will live with thee no more!       
Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore!       
And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me,       
I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly       
That I might eat again, and met thy sneers                5
With deprecations, and thy blows with tears,—       
Aye, from thy glutted lash, glad, crawled away,       
As if spent passion were a holiday!       
And now I go. Nor threat, nor easy vow       
Of tardy kindness can avail thee now                10
With me, whence fear and faith alike are flown;       
Lonely I came, and I depart alone,       
And know not where nor unto whom I go;       
But that thou canst not follow me I know.”       

Thus I to Life, and ceased; but through my brain                15
My thought ran still, until I spake again:       

“Ah, but I go not as I came,—no trace       
Is mine to bear away of that old grace       
I brought!  I have been heated in thy fires,       
Bent by thy hands, fashioned to thy desires,                20
Thy mark is on me!  I am not the same       
Nor ever more shall be, as when I came.       
Ashes am I of all that once I seemed.       
In me all’s sunk that leapt, and all that dreamed       
Is wakeful for alarm,—oh, shame to thee,                25
For the ill change that thou hast wrought in me,       
Who laugh no more nor lift my throat to sing!       
Ah, life, I would have been a pleasant thing       
To have about the house when I was grown       
If thou hadst left my little joys alone!                30
I asked of thee no favor save this one:       
That thou wouldst leave me playing in the sun!       
And this thou didst deny, calling my name       
Insistently, until I rose and came.       
I saw the sun no more.—It were not well                35
So long on these unpleasant thoughts to dwell,       
Need I arise to-morrow and renew       
Again my hated tasks, but I am through       
With all things save my thoughts and this one night,       
So that in truth I seem already quite                40
Free and remote from thee,—I feel no haste       
And no reluctance to depart; I taste       
Merely, with thoughtful mien, an unknown draught,       
That in a little while I shall have quaffed.”       

Thus I to Life, and ceased, and slightly smiled,                45
Looking at nothing; and my thin dreams filed       
Before me one by one till once again       
I set new words unto an old refrain:       

“Treasures thou hast that never have been mine!       
Warm lights in many a secret chamber shine                50
Of thy gaunt house, and gusts of song have blown       
Like blossoms out to me that sat alone!       
And I have waited well for thee to show       
If any share were mine,—and now I go!       
Nothing I leave, and if I naught attain                55
I shall but come into mine own again!”       
Thus I to Life, and ceased, and spake no more,       
But turning, straightway, sought a certain door       
In the rear wall. Heavy it was, and low       
And dark,—a way by which none e’er would go                60
That other exit had, and never knock       
Was heard thereat,—bearing a curious lock       
Some chance had shown me fashioned faultily,       
Whereof Life held content the useless key,       
And great coarse hinges, thick and rough with rust,                65
Whose sudden voice across a silence must,       
I knew, be harsh and horrible to hear,—       
A strange door, ugly like a dwarf.—So near       
I came I felt upon my feet the chill       
Of acid wind creeping across the sill.                70
So stood longtime, till over me at last       
Came weariness, and all things other passed       
To make it room; the still night drifted deep       
Like snow about me, and I longed for sleep.       

But, suddenly, marking the morning hour,                75
Bayed the deep-throated bell within the tower!       
Startled, I raised my head,—and with a shout       
Laid hold upon the latch,—and was without.

    .    .    .    .    .    .       

Ah, long-forgotten, well-remembered road,       
Leading me back unto my old abode,                80
My father’s house!  There in the night I came,       
And found them feasting, and all things the same       
As they had been before. A splendour hung       
Upon the walls, and such sweet songs were sung       
As, echoing out of very long ago,                85
Had called me from the house of Life, I know.       
So fair their raiment shone I looked in shame       
On the unlovely garb in which I came;       
Then straightway at my hesitancy mocked:       
“It is my father’s house!” I said and knocked;                90
And the door opened. To the shining crowd       
Tattered and dark I entered, like a cloud,       
Seeing no face but his; to him I crept,       
And “Father!” I cried, and clasped his knees, and wept.       
Ah, days of joy that followed!  All alone                95
I wandered through the house. My own, my own,       
My own to touch, my own to taste and smell,       
All I had lacked so long and loved so well!       
None shook me out of sleep, nor hushed my song,       
Nor called me in from the sunlight all day long.                100

I know not when the wonder came to me       
Of what my father’s business might be,       
And whither fared and on what errands bent       
The tall and gracious messengers he sent.       
Yet one day with no song from dawn till night                105
Wondering, I sat, and watched them out of sight.       
And the next day I called; and on the third       
Asked them if I might go,—but no one heard.       
Then, sick with longing, I arose at last       
And went unto my father,—in that vast                110
Chamber wherein he for so many years       
Has sat, surrounded by his charts and spheres.       
“Father,” I said, “Father, I cannot play       
The harp that thou didst give me, and all day       
I sit in idleness, while to and fro                115
About me thy serene, grave servants go;       
And I am weary of my lonely ease.       
Better a perilous journey overseas       
Away from thee, than this, the life I lead,       
To sit all day in the sunshine like a weed                120
That grows to naught,—I love thee more than they       
Who serve thee most; yet serve thee in no way.       
Father, I beg of thee a little task       
To dignify my days,—’tis all I ask       
Forever, but forever, this denied,                125
I perish.”
          “Child,” my father’s voice replied,       
“All things thy fancy hath desired of me       
Thou hast received. I have prepared for thee       
Within my house a spacious chamber, where       
Are delicate things to handle and to wear,                130
And all these things are thine. Dost thou love song?       
My minstrels shall attend thee all day long.       
Or sigh for flowers?  My fairest gardens stand       
Open as fields to thee on every hand.       
And all thy days this word shall hold the same:                135
No pleasure shalt thou lack that thou shalt name.       
But as for tasks—” he smiled, and shook his head;       
“Thou hadst thy task, and laidst it by,” he said..

Ashes of Life

LOVE has gone and left me and the days are all alike;       
    Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and would that night were here!       
But ah!—to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!       
    Would that it were day again!—with twilight near!       

Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;                5
    This or that or what you will is all the same to me;       
But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,—       
    There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.       

Love has gone and left me,—and the neighbors knock and borrow,       
    And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,—                10
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow       
    There’s this little street and this little house..

The Little Ghost

I KNEW her for a little ghost        
    That in my garden walked;        
The wall is high—higher than most—        
    And the green gate was locked.        

And yet I did not think of that                5
    Till after she was gone—        
I knew her by the broad white hat,        
    All ruffled, she had on.        

By the dear ruffles round her feet,        
    By her small hands that hung                10
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,        
    Her gown’s white folds among.        

I watched to see if she would stay,        
    What she would do—and oh!        
She looked as if she liked the way                15
    I let my garden grow!        

She bent above my favourite mint        
    With conscious garden grace,        
She smiled and smiled—there was no hint        
    Of sadness in her face.                20

She held her gown on either side        
    To let her slippers show,        
And up the walk she went with pride,        
    The way great ladies go.        

And where the wall is built in new                25
    And is of ivy bare        
She paused—then opened and passed through        
    A gate that once was there..

Kin to Sorrow

AM I kin to Sorrow,       
    That so oft       
Falls the knocker of my door—       
    Neither loud nor soft,       
But as long accustomed,                5
    Under Sorrow’s hand?       
Marigolds around the step       
    And rosemary stand,       
And then comes Sorrow—       
    And what does Sorrow care                10
For the rosemary       
    Or the marigolds there?       
Am I kin to Sorrow?       
    Are we kin?       
That so oft upon my door—                15
    Oh, come in!.

Three Songs of Shattering

I

THE FIRST rose on my rose-tree       
    Budded, bloomed, and shattered,       
During sad days when to me       
                Nothing mattered.       

Grief of grief has drained me clean;                5
    Still it seems a pity       
No one saw,—it must have been       
                Very pretty.       

II

Let the little birds sing;       
    Let the little lambs play;                10
Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;—       
    But not in the old way!       

I recall a place       
    Where a plum-tree grew;       
There you lifted up your face,                15
    And blossoms covered you.       

If the little birds sing,       
    And the little lambs play,       
Spring is here; and so ’tis spring—       
    But not in the old way!                20

III

All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!       
    Ere spring was going—ah, spring is gone!       
And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—       
    Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.       

All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,                25
    Browned at the edges, turned in a day;       
And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,       
    And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!.

The Shroud

DEATH, I say, my heart is bowed       
    Unto thine,—O mother!       
This red gown will make a shroud       
    Good as any other!       

(I, that would not wait to wear                5
    My own bridal things,       
In a dress dark as my hair       
    Made my answerings.       

I, to-night, that till he came       
    Could not, could not wait,                10
In a gown as bright as flame       
    Held for them the gate.)       

Death, I say, my heart is bowed       
    Unto thine,—O mother!       
This red gown will make a shroud                15
    Good as any other!.

Indifference

I SAID,—for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,—       
    “I’ll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;       
But I’ll never leave my pillow, though there be some       
    As would let him in—and take him in with tears!” I said.       
I lay,—for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,—                5
    I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;       
And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,       
    All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!.

Witch-Wife

SHE is neither pink nor pale,       
    And she never will be all mine;       
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,       
    And her mouth on a valentine.       

She has more hair than she needs;                5
    In the sun ’tis a woe to me!       
And her voice is a string of colored beads,       
    Or steps leading into the sea.       

She loves me all that she can,       
    And her ways to my ways resign;                10
But she was not made for any man,       
    And she never will be all mine..

Blight

HARD seeds of hate I planted       
    That should by now be grown,—       
Rough stalks, and from thick stamens       
    A poisonous pollen blown,       
And odors rank, unbreathable,                5
    From dark corollas thrown!       

At dawn from my damp garden       
    I shook the chilly dew;       
The thin boughs locked behind me       
    That sprang to let me through;                10
The blossoms slept,—I sought a place       
    Where nothing lovely grew.       

And there, when day was breaking,       
    I knelt and looked around:       
The light was near, the silence                15
    Was palpitant with sound;       
I drew my hate from out my breast       
    And thrust it in the ground.       

Oh, ye so fiercely tended,       
    Ye little seeds of hate!                20
I bent above your growing       
    Early and noon and late,       
Yet are ye drooped and pitiful,—       
    I cannot rear ye straight!       

The sun seeks out my garden,                25
    No nook is left in shade,       
No mist nor mold nor mildew       
    Endures on any blade,       
Sweet rain slants under every bough:       
    Ye falter, and ye fade.                30.

“Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,—no”

“Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,—no”

Sonnet I
THOU art not lovelier than lilacs,—no,       
    Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair       
    Than small white single poppies,—I can bear       
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though       
From left to right, not knowing where to go,                5
    I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there       
    Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear       
So has it been with mist,—with moonlight so.       

Like him who day by day unto his draught       
    Of delicate poison adds him one drop more                10
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,       
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed       
    Each hour more deeply than the hour before,       
I drink—and live—what has destroyed some men..

“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied”

Sonnet II

TIME does not bring relief; you all have lied       
    Who told me time would ease me of my pain!       
    I miss him in the weeping of the rain;       
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;       
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,                5
    And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;       
    But last year’s bitter loving must remain       
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!       

There are a hundred places where I fear       
    To go,—so with his memory they brim!                10
And entering with relief some quiet place       
Where never fell his foot or shone his face       
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”       
    And so stand stricken, so remembering him!.

“Not in this chamber only at my birth”

Sonnet IV
  
NOT in this chamber only at my birth—       
    When the long hours of that mysterious night       
    Were over, and the morning was in sight—       
I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth       
I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth;                5
    And never shall one room contain me quite       
    Who in so many rooms first saw the light,       
Child of all mothers, native of the earth.       

So is no warmth for me at any fire       
    To-day, when the world’s fire has burned so low;                10
I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire,       
At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong,       
And straighten back in weariness, and long       
    To gather up my little gods and go..

“If I should learn, in some quite casual way”

Sonnet V
  
IF I should learn, in some quite casual way,       
    That you were gone, not to return again—       
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,       
    Held by a neighbor in a subway train,       
How at the corner of this avenue                5
    And such a street (so are the papers filled)       
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—       
    At noon to-day had happened to be killed,       
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry       
    Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—                10
I should but watch the station lights rush by       
    With a more careful interest on my face,       
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care       
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair..

Bluebeard

Sonnet VI

THIS door you might not open, and you did;       
    So enter now, and see for what slight thing       
You are betrayed…. Here is no treasure hid,       
    No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring       
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain                5
    For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,       
But only what you see…. Look yet again—       
    An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.       
Yet this alone out of my life I kept       
    Unto myself, lest any know me quite;                10
And you did so profane me when you crept       
    Unto the threshold of this room to-night       
That I must never more behold your face.       
    This now is yours. I seek another place..