the children of the night-第3部分

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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　God's　home

To　find　Him　in　the　names　of　buried　men；

Nor　your　ingenious　recreance　to　think

We　cherish；　in　the　life　that　is　to　come；

The　scattered　features　of　dead　friends　again。







　　II





Never　until　our　souls　are　strong　enough

To　plunge　into　the　crater　of　the　Scheme　

Triumphant　in　the　flash　there　to　redeem

Love's　handsel　and　forevermore　to　slough；

Like　cerements　at　a　played…out　masque；　the　rough

And　reptile　skins　of　us　whereon　we　set

The　stigma　of　scared　years　　are　we　to　get

Where　atoms　and　the　ages　are　one　stuff。



Nor　ever　shall　we　know　the　cursed　waste

Of　life　in　the　beneficence　divine

Of　starlight　and　of　sunlight　and　soul…shine

That　we　have　squandered　in　sin's　frail　distress；

Till　we　have　drunk；　and　trembled　at　the　taste；

The　mead　of　Thought's　prophetic　endlessness。









The　Clerks







I　did　not　think　that　I　should　find　them　there

When　I　came　back　again；　but　there　they　stood；

As　in　the　days　they　dreamed　of　when　young　blood

Was　in　their　cheeks　and　women　called　them　fair。

Be　sure；　they　met　me　with　an　ancient　air；　

And　yes；　there　was　a　shop…worn　brotherhood

About　them；　but　the　men　were　just　as　good；

And　just　as　human　as　they　ever　were。



And　you　that　ache　so　much　to　be　sublime；

And　you　that　feed　yourselves　with　your　descent；

What　comes　of　all　your　visions　and　your　fears？

Poets　and　kings　are　but　the　clerks　of　Time；

Tiering　the　same　dull　webs　of　discontent；

Clipping　the　same　sad　alnage　of　the　years。









Fleming　Helphenstine







At　first　I　thought　there　was　a　superfine

Persuasion　in　his　face；　but　the　free　glow

That　filled　it　when　he　stopped　and　cried；　〃Hollo！〃

Shone　joyously；　and　so　I　let　it　shine。

He　said　his　name　was　Fleming　Helphenstine；

But　be　that　as　it　may；　　I　only　know

He　talked　of　this　and　that　and　So…and…So；

And　laughed　and　chaffed　like　any　friend　of　mine。



But　soon；　with　a　queer；　quick　frown；　he　looked　at　me；

And　I　looked　hard　at　him；　and　there　we　gazed

With　a　strained　shame　that　made　us　cringe　and　wince：

Then；　with　a　wordless　clogged　apology

That　sounded　half　confused　and　half　amazed；

He　dodged；　　and　I　have　never　seen　him　since。









For　a　Book　by　Thomas　Hardy







With　searching　feet；　through　dark　circuitous　ways；

I　plunged　and　stumbled；　round　me；　far　and　near；

Quaint　hordes　of　eyeless　phantoms　did　appear；

Twisting　and　turning　in　a　bootless　chase；　

When；　like　an　exile　given　by　God's　grace

To　feel　once　more　a　human　atmosphere；

I　caught　the　world's　first　murmur；　large　and　clear；

Flung　from　a　singing　river's　endless　race。



Then；　through　a　magic　twilight　from　below；

I　heard　its　grand　sad　song　as　in　a　dream：

Life's　wild　infinity　of　mirth　and　woe

It　sang　me；　and；　with　many　a　changing　gleam；

Across　the　music　of　its　onward　flow

I　saw　the　cottage　lights　of　Wessex　beam。









Thomas　Hood







The　man　who　cloaked　his　bitterness　within

This　wind