anthology of massachusetts poets-第7章
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！
And when the sunset's final shades depart
The aspiration to completed birth
Is sweet and silent； as the soft tears start；
We know how wanton and how little worth
Are all the passions of our bleeding heart
That vex the awful patience of the earth。
II
Thine are the large winds and the splendid sun
Glutting the spread of heaven to the floor
Of waters rhythmic from far shore to shore；
And thine the stars； revealing one by one；
Thine the grave； lucent night's oblivion；
The tawny moon that waits below the skies；
Strange as the dawn that smote their blistered eyes
Who watched from Calvary when the Deed was done。
And thine the good brown earth that bares its
breast
To thy benign October； thine the trees
Lusty with fruitage in the late year's rest；
And thine the men whos@ blood has glorified
Thy name with Liberty Is divine decrees…
The men who loved thy soil and fought and died。
III
Toward thine Eastern window when the morn
Steals through the silver mesh of silent stars；
I come unlaurelled from the strenuous wars
Where men have fought and wept and died
Forlorn。
But here； across the early fields of corn；
The living silence dwelleth； and the gray
Sweet earth…mist； while afar the lisp of spray
Breathes from the ocean like a Triton's horn。
Open thy lattice； for the gage is won
For which this earth has journeyed though the
dust
Of shattered systems； cold about the sun；
And proved by sin； by mighty lives impearled；
A voice cries through the sunrise： 〃Time is
Just！〃
And falls like dew God's pity on the world
GEORGE CABOT LODGE
THE SONG OF THE WAVE
This is the song of the wave！ The mighty one！
Child of the soul of silence； beating the air to
sound：
White as a live terror； as a drawn sword；
This is the wave。
II
This is the song of the wave； the white…maned steed
of the Tempest
Whose veins are swollen with life；
In whose flanks abide the four winds。
This is the wave。
III
This is the song of the wave！ The dawn leaped out
of the sea
And the waters lay smooth as a silver shield；
And the sun…rays smote on the waters like a golden
sword。
Then a wind blew out of the morning
And the waters rustled
And the wave was born！
IV
This is the song of the wave！ The wind blew out of the noon
And the white sea…birds like driven foam
Winged in from the ocean that lay beyond the sky
And the face of the waters was barred with white；
For the wave had many brothers；
And the wave was strong！
V
This is the song of the wave！ The wind blew out
of the sunset
And the west was lurid as Hell。
The black clouds closed like a tomb； for the sun was
dead。
Then the wind smote full as the breath of God；
And the wave called to its brothers；
〃This is the crest of life！〃
VI
This is the song of the wave； that rises to fall；
Rises a sheer green wall like a barrier of glass
That has caught the soul of the moonlight。
Caught and prisoned the moon…beams；
Its edge is frittered to foam。
This is the wave！
VII
This is the song of the wave； of the wave that falls…
Wild as a burst of day…gold blown through the
colours of morning
It shivers to infinite atoms up the rumbling steep
of sand。
This is the wave。
VIII
This is the song of the wave that died in the fullness
of life。
The prodigal this； that lavished its largess of
strength
In the lust of attainment。
Aiming at things for Heaven too high；
Sure in the pride of life； in the richness of strength。
So tried it the impossible height； till the end was
found：
Where ends the soul that yearns for the fillet of
morning stars；
The soul in the toils of the journeying worlds；
Whose eye is filled with the Image of God；
And the end is Death！
GEORGE CABOT LODGE
FRIMAIRE
DEAREST； we are like two flowers
Blooming in the garden；
A purple aster flower and a red one
Standing alone in a withered desolation。
The garden plants are shattered and seeded；
One brittle leaf scrapes against another；
Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals。
Now only you and I nodding together。
Many were with us； they have all faded。
Only we are purple and crimson；
Only we in the dew…clear mornings；
Smarten into color as the sun rises。
When I scarcely see you in the flat moonlight；
And later when my cold roots tighten；
I am anxious for morning；
I cannot rest in fear of what may happen。
You or I…and I am a coward。
Surely frost should take the crimson。
Purple is a finer color；
Very splendid in isolation。
So we nod above the broken
Stems of flowers almost rotted。
Many mornings there cannot be now
For us both。 Ah； Dear； I love you！
AMY LOWELL
PATTERNS
I WALK down the garden paths；
And all the daffodils
Are blowing； and the bright blue squills。
I walk down the patterned garden paths
In my stiff； brocaded gown。
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan；
I too am a rare
Pattern。 As I wander down
The garden paths。
My dress is richly figured；
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel； and the thrift
Of the borders。
Just a plate of current fashion；
Tripping by in high…heeled； ribboned shoes。
Not a softness anywhere about me；
Only a whale…bone and brocade。
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree。 For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade。
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please。
And I weep；
For the lime tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom。
And the splashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden paths。
The dripping never stops。
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble
basin；
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick； she cannot see her lover hiding；
But she guesses he is near；
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her。
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown！
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the
ground。
All the pink and silver crumpled up upon the ground。
I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths；
And he would stumble after；
Bewildered by my laughter。
I should see the sun flashing from his sword hilt
and the buckles on his shoes。
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths；
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy…booted
lover；
Till he caught me in the shade；
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body
as he clasped me；
Aching； melting； unafraid。
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops；
And the plopping of the waterdrops；
All about us in the open afternoon…
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade；
For the sun sifts through the shade。
Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom；
Is a letter I have hid。
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from
the Duke。
〃Madam； we regret to inform you that Lord Hart…
well
Died in action Thursday sen'night。〃
As I read it in the white morning sunlight。
The letters squirmed like snakes。
〃Any answer； Madam；〃 said my footman。
〃No；〃 I told him。
〃See that the messenger takes some refreshment。
No； no answer。〃
And I walked into the garden；
Up and down the patterned paths；
In my stiff； correct brocade。
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in
the sun；
Each one。
I stood upright too；
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown。
Up and down I walked；
Up and down。
In a month be would have been my husband；
In a month； here； underneath this lime；
We would have broke the pattern；
He for me； and I for him；
He as Colonel； I as lady；
On this shady seat。
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing。
And I answered； 〃It shall be as you have said。〃
Now he is dead。
In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden paths
In my stiff； brocaded gown。
The squills and the daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses； and to asters；
and to snow。
I shall go
Up and down；
In my gown。
Gorgeously arrayed；
Boned and stayed。
And the softness of my body will be guarded from
embrace
By each button； hook and lace。
For the man who should loose me is dead；
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders；
In a pattern called a war。
Christ！ What are patterns for？
AMY LOWELL
A BATHER
THICK dappled by circles of sunshine and
fluttering shade。
Your bright； naked body advances； blown over by
leaves；
Half…quenched in their various green； just a point
Of you showing；
A knee or a thigh； sudden glimpsed； then at once
Blotted into
The filmy and flickering forest； to start out again
Triumphant in smooth； supple roundness； edged
Sharp as white ivory；
Cool； perfect； with rose rarely tinting your lips and
Your breasts；
Swelling out from the green in the opulent curves
Of ripe fruit；
And hidden； like fruit； by the swift intermittence
Of leaves。
So； clinging to branches and moss； you advance on the ledges
Of rock which hang over the stream； with the
wood…smells about you；
The pungence of strawberry plants and of gum…
oozing spruces；
While below runs the water impatient； impatient…
to take you；
To splash you； to run down your sides； to sing you
of deepness；
Of pools brown and golden； with brown…and…gold
flags on their borders；
Of blue； lingering skies floating solemnly over your
beauty；
Of undulant waters a…sway in the effort to hold you
To keep you submerged and quiescent while over
you glories
The summer。
Oread； Dryad； or Naiad； or just
Woman； clad only in youth and in gallant perfection；
Standing up in a great burst of sunshine； you
dazzle my eyes
Like a snow…star； a moon； your effulgence burns up
in a halo；
For you are the chalice which holds all the races of
men。
You slip into the pool and the water folds over your
shoulder；
And over the tree…tops the clouds slowly follow
your swimming； To behold the way they act。
And the scent of the woods is sweet on this hot
summer morning。
AMY LOWELL
LEPRECHAUNS AND CLURICAUNS
OVER where the Irish hedges
Are with blossoms white as snow；
Over where the limestone ledges
Through the soft green grasses show…
There the fairies may be seen
In their jackets of red and green；
Leprechauns and cluricauns；
And the other ones； I ween。
And； bedad； it is a wonder
To behold the way they act。
They're the lads that seldom blunder；
Wise and wary； that's the fact。
You may hold them with your eye；
Look away and off they fly；
Leprechauns and cluricauns；
Bedad； but they are sly！
They have heaps of golden treasure
Hid away within the ground；
Where they spend their days in leisure；
