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第5章

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

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