the man against the sky-第5章
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Whatever there be; they'll be no more of that;
The coming on of his old monster Time
Has made him a still man; and he has dreams
Were fair to think on once; and all found hollow。
He knows how much of what men paint themselves
Would blister in the light of what they are;
He sees how much of what was great now shares
An eminence transformed and ordinary;
He knows too much of what the world has hushed
In others; to be loud now for himself;
He knows now at what height low enemies
May reach his heart; and high friends let him fall;
But what not even such as he may know
Bedevils him the worst: his lark may sing
At heaven's gate how he will; and for as long
As joy may listen; but HE sees no gate;
Save one whereat the spent clay waits a little
Before the churchyard has it; and the worm。
Not long ago; late in an afternoon;
I came on him unseen down Lambeth way;
And on my life I was afear'd of him:
He gloomed and mumbled like a soul from Tophet;
His hands behind him and his head bent solemn。
〃What is it now;〃 said I; 〃another woman?〃
That made him sorry for me; and he smiled。
〃No; Ben;〃 he mused; 〃it's Nothing。 It's all Nothing。
We come; we go; and when we're done; we're done;
Spiders and flies we're mostly one or t'other
We come; we go; and when we're done; we're done。〃
〃By God; you sing that song as if you knew it!〃
Said I; by way of cheering him; 〃what ails ye?〃
〃I think I must have come down here to think;〃
Says he to that; and pulls his little beard;
〃Your fly will serve as well as anybody;
And what's his hour? He flies; and flies; and flies;
And in his fly's mind has a brave appearance;
And then your spider gets him in her net;
And eats him out; and hangs him up to dry。
That's Nature; the kind mother of us all。
And then your slattern housemaid swings her broom;
And where's your spider? And that's Nature; also。
It's Nature; and it's Nothing。 It's all Nothing。
It's all a world where bugs and emperors
Go singularly back to the same dust;
Each in his time; and the old; ordered stars
That sang together; Ben; will sing the same
Old stave to…morrow。〃
When he talks like that;
There's nothing for a human man to do
But lead him to some grateful nook like this
Where we be now; and there to make him drink。
He'll drink; for love of me; and then be sick;
A sad sign always in a man of parts;
And always very ominous。 The great
Should be as large in liquor as in love;
And our great friend is not so large in either:
One disaffects him; and the other fails him;
Whatso he drinks that has an antic in it;
He's wondering what's to pay in his insides;
And while his eyes are on the Cyprian
He's fribbling all the time with that damned House。
We laugh here at his thrift; but after all
It may be thrift that saves him from the devil;
God gave it; anyhow; and we'll suppose
He knew the compound of his handiwork。
To…day the clouds are with him; but anon
He'll out of 'em enough to shake the tree
Of life itself and bring down fruit unheard…of;
And; throwing in the bruised and whole together;
Prepare a wine to make us drunk with wonder;
And if he live; there'll be a sunset spell
Thrown over him as over a glassed lake
That yesterday was all a black wild water。
God send he live to give us; if no more;
What now's a…rampage in him; and exhibit;
With a decent half…allegiance to the ages
An earnest of at least a casual eye
Turned once on what he owes to Gutenberg;
And to the fealty of more centuries
Than are as yet a picture in our vision。
〃There's time enough; I'll do it when I'm old;
And we're immortal men;〃 he says to that;
And then he says to me; 〃Ben; what's ‘immortal'?
Think you by any force of ordination
It may be nothing of a sort more noisy
Than a small oblivion of component ashes
That of a dream…addicted world was once
A moving atomy much like your friend here?〃
Nothing will help that man。 To make him laugh;
I said then he was a mad mountebank;
And by the Lord I nearer made him cry。
I could have eat an eft then; on my knees;
Tail; claws; and all of him; for I had stung
The king of men; who had no sting for me;
And I had hurt him in his memories;
And I say now; as I shall say again;
I love the man this side idolatry。
He'll do it when he's old; he says。 I wonder。
He may not be so ancient as all that。
For such as he; the thing that is to do
Will do itself; but there's a reckoning;
The sessions that are now too much his own;
The roiling inward of a stilled outside;
The churning out of all those blood…fed lines;
The nights of many schemes and little sleep;
The full brain hammered hot with too much thinking;
The vexed heart over…worn with too much aching;
This weary jangling of conjoined affairs
Made out of elements that have no end;
And all confused at once; I understand;
Is not what makes a man to live forever。
O no; not now! He'll not be going now:
There'll be time yet for God knows what explosions
Before he goes。 He'll stay awhile。 Just wait:
Just wait a year or two for Cleopatra;
For she's to be a balsam and a comfort;
And that's not all a jape of mine now; either。
For granted once the old way of Apollo
Sings in a man; he may then; if he's able;
Strike unafraid whatever strings he will
Upon the last and wildest of new lyres;
Nor out of his new magic; though it hymn
The shrieks of dungeoned hell; shall he create
A madness or a gloom to shut quite out
A cleaving daylight; and a last great calm
Triumphant over shipwreck and all storms。
He might have given Aristotle creeps;
But surely would have given him his ‘katharsis'。
He'll not be going yet。 There's too much yet
Unsung within the man。 But when he goes;
I'd stake ye coin o' the realm his only care
For a phantom world he sounded and found wanting
Will be a portion here; a portion there;
Of this or that thing or some other thing
That has a patent and intrinsical
Equivalence in those egregious shillings。
And yet he knows; God help him! Tell me; now;
If ever there was anything let loose
On earth by gods or devils heretofore
Like this mad; careful; proud; indifferent Shakespeare!
Where was it; if it ever was? By heaven;
'Twas never yet in Rhodes or Pergamon
In Thebes or Nineveh; a thing like this!
No thing like this was ever out of England;
And that he knows。 I wonder if he cares。
Perhaps he does。 。 。 。 O Lord; that House in Stratford!
Eros Turannos
She fears him; and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reasons to refuse him;
But what she meets and what she fears
Are less than are the downward years;
Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs
Of age; were she to lose him。
Between a blurred sagacity
That once had power to sound him;
And Love; that will not let him be
The Judas that she found him;
Her pride assuages her almost;
As if it were alone the cost。
He sees that he will not be lost;
And waits and looks around him。
A sense of ocean and old trees
Envelops and allures him;
Tradition; touching all he sees;
Beguiles and reassures him;
And all her doubts of what he says
Are dimmed of what she knows of days
Till even prejudice delays
And fades; and she secures him。
The falling leaf inaugurates
The reign of her confusion;
The pounding wave reverberates
The dirge of her illusion;
And home; where passion lived and died;
Becomes a place where she can hide;
While all the town and harbor side
Vibrate with her seclusion。
We tell you; tapping on our brows;
The story as it should be;
As if the story of a house
Were told; or ever could be;
We'll have no kindly veil between
Her visions and those we have seen;
As if we guessed what hers have been;
Or what they are or would be。
Meanwhile we do no harm; for they
That