加载中…【罗塞蒂】
(2013-04-20 12:02:59)
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Sudden Light
- I
have been here before, -
But when or how I cannot tell: - I know the grass beyond the door,
-
The sweet, keen smell, - The sighing sound, the lights around
the shore.
- You have been mine before,--
-
How long ago I may not know: - But just when at the swallow's soar
-
Your neck turned so, - Some veil did fall--I knew it all of yore.
- Then, now,--perchance again!...
-
O round mine eyes your tresses shake! - Shall we not lie as we have lain
-
Thus for Love's sake, - And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- THE blessed damozel leaned out
- From the gold bar of heaven;
- Her eyes were deeper than the depth
- Of waters stilled at even;
- She had three lilies in her hand,
- And the stars in her hair were seven.
- Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
- No wrought flowers did adorn,
- But a white rose of Mary's gift,
- For service meetly worn;
- Her hair that lay along her back
- Was yellow like ripe corn.
- It seemed she scarce had been a day
- One of God's choristers;
- The wonder was not yet quite gone
- From that still look of hers;
- Albeit, to them she left, her day
- Had counted as ten years.
- (To one it is ten years of years.
- . . . Yet now, and in this place,
- Surely she leaned o'er me -- her hair
- Fell all about my face . . .
- Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves.
- The whole year sets apace.)
- It was the rampart of God's house
- That she was standing on;
- By God built over the sheer depth
- The which is Space begun;
- So high, that looking downward thence
- She scarce could see the sun.
- It lies in heaven, across the flood
- Of ether, as a bridge.
- Beneath the tides of day and night
- With flame and darkness ridge
- The void, as low as where this earth
- Spins like a fretful midge.
- Around her, lovers, newly met
- 'Mid deathless love's acclaims,
- Spoke evermore among themselves
- Their heart-remembered names;
- And the souls mounting up to God
- Went by her like thin flames.
- And still she bowed herself and stooped
- Out of the circling charm;
- Until her bosom must have made
- The bar she leaned on warm,
- And the lilies lay as if asleep
- Along her bended arm.
- From the fixed place of heaven she saw
- Time like a pulse shake fierce
- Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove
- Within the gulf to pierce
- Its path; and now she spoke as when
- The stars sang in their spheres.
- The sun was gone now; the curled moon
- Was like a little feather
- Fluttering far down the gulf; and now
- She spoke through the still weather.
- Her voice was like the voice the stars
- Had when they sang together.
- (Ah, sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,
- Strove not her accents there,
- Fain to be harkened? When those bells
- Possessed the midday air,
- Strove not her steps to reach my side
- Down all the echoing stair?)
- "I wish that he were come to me,
- For he will come," she said.
- "Have I not prayed in heaven? -- on earth,
- Lord, Lord, has he not prayed?
- Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
- And shall I feel afraid?
- "When round his head the aureole clings,
- And he is clothed in white,
- I'll take his hand and go with him
- To the deep wells of light;
- As unto a stream we will step down,
- And bathe there in God's sight.
- "We two will stand beside that shrine,
- Occult, withheld, untrod,
- Whose lamps are stirred continually
- With prayer sent up to God;
- And see our old prayers, granted melt
- Each like a little cloud.
- "We two will lie i' the shadow of
- That living mystic tree
- Within those secret growth the Dove
- Is sometimes felt to be,
- While every leaf that His plumes touch
- Saith His Name audibly.
- "And I myself will teach to him,
- I myself, lying so,
- The songs I sing here; which his voice
- Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
- And find some knowledge at each pause,
- Or some new thing to know."
- (Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!
- Yea, one wast thou with me
- That once of old. But shall God lift
- To endless unity
- The soul whose likeness with thy soul
- Was but its love for thee?)
- "We two," she said, "will seek the groves
- Where the lady Mary is,
- With her five handmaidens, whose names
- Are five sweet symphonies,
- Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
- Margaret, and Rosalys.
- "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks
- And foreheads garlanded;
- Into the fine cloth white like flame
- Weaving the golden thread,
- To fashion the birth-robes for them
- Who are just born, being dead.
- "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb;
- Then will I lay my cheek
- To his, and tell about our love,
- Not once abashed or weak;
- And the dear Mother will approve
- My pride, and let me speak.
- "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
- To Him round whom all souls
- Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads
- Bowed with their aureoles;
- And angels meeting us shall sing
- To their citherns and citoles.
- "There will I ask of Christ the Lord
- Thus much for him and me --
- Only to live as once on earth
- With Love -- only to be,
- As then awhile, forever now,
- Together, I and he."
- She gazed and listened and then said,
- Less sad of speech than mild --
- "All this is when he comes." She ceased.
- The light thrilled toward her, filled
- With angels in strong, level flight.
- Her eyes prayed, and she smiled.
- (I saw her smile.) But soon their path
- Was vague in distant spheres;
- And then she cast her arms along
- The golden barriers,
- And laid her face between her hands,
- And wept. (I heard her tears.)
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- THE wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
- Shaken out dead from tree and hill;
- I had walked on at the wind's will --
- I sat now, for the wind was still.
- Between my knees my forehead was --
- My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
- My hair was over in the grass,
- My naked ears heard the day pass.
- My eyes, wide open, had the run
- Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
- Among those few, out of the sun,
- The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.
- From perfect grief there need not be
- Wisdom or even memory;
- One thing then learned remains to me --
- The woodspurge has a cup of three.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- A
SONNET is a moment's monument, -- - Memorial from the Soul's eternity
- To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
- Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
- Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
- Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
- As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
- Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
- A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
- The soul, -- its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
- Whether for tribute to the august appeals
- Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
- It serve, or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
- In Charon's palm it pay the toll of Death.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- WHAT smouldering senses in death's sick delay
- Or seizure of malign vicissitude
- Can rob this body of honour, or denude
- This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
- For lo! even now my lady's lips did play
- With these my lips such consonant interlude
- As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
- The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
- I was a child beneath her touch, -- a man
- When breast to breast we clung, even I and she, --
- A spirit when her spirit looked through me, --
- A god when all our life-breath met to fan
- Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran,
- Fire within fire, desire in deity.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- YOUR hands lie open in the long fresh grass, --
- The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
- Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
- 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
- All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
- Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge
- Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.
- 'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.
- Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly
- Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: --
- So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
- Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
- This close-companioned inarticulate hour
- When twofold silence was the song of love.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- BEAUTY like hers is genius. Not the call
- Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime, --
- Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time, --
- Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
- Nay, not in Spring's Summer's sweet footfall
- More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeaths
- Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes
- Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.
- As many men are poets in their youth,
- But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong
- Even through all change the indomitable song;
- So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth
- Rends shallower grace with ruin void of truth,
- Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- A
LITTLE while a little love - The hour yet bears for thee and me
- Who have not drawn the veil to see
- If still our heaven be lit above.
- Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,
- Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone;
- And I have heard the night-wind cry
- And deemed its speech mine own.
- A little while a little love
- The scattering autumn hoards for us
- Whose bower is not yet ruinous
- Nor quite unleaved our songless grove.
- Only across the shaken boughs
- We hear the flood-tides seek the sea,
- And deep in both our hearts they rouse
- One wail for thee and me.
- A little while a little love
- May yet be ours who have not said
- The word it makes our eyes afraid
- To know that each is thinking of.
- Not yet the end: be our lips dumb
- In smiles a little season yet:
- I'll tell thee, when the end is come,
- How we may best forget.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- BETWEEN the hands, between the brows,
- Between the lips of Love-lily,
- A spirit is born whose birth endows
- My blood with fire to burn through me;
- Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
- Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
- At whose least touch my color flies,
- And whom my life grows faint to hear.
- Within the voice, within the heart,
- Within the mind of Love-Lily,
- A spirit is born who lifts apart
- His tremulous wings and looks at me;
- Who on my mouth his finger lays,
- And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
- That Eden of Love's watered ways
- Whose winds and spirits worship her.
- Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
- Kisses and words of Love-Lily,--
- Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
- Til riotous longing rest in me!
- Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
- But find in her its gracious goal,
- Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
- Nor Love her body from her soul.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- SOFT-LITTERED is the new-year's lambing fold,
- And in the hollowed haystack at its side
- The shepherd lies o' night now, wakeful-eyed
- At the ewes' travailing call through the dark cold.
- The young rooks cheep 'mid the thick caw o' the old:
- And near unpeopled stream-sides, on the ground,
- By her Spring cry the moorhen's nest is found,
- Where the drained flood-lands flaunt their marigold.
- Chill are the gusts to which the pastures cower,
- And chill the current where the young reeds stand
- As green and close as the young wheat on land
- Yet here the cuckoo and cuckoo-flower
- Plight to the heart Spring's perfect imminent hour
- Whose breath shall soothe you like your dear one's hand.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- CONSIDER the sea's listless chime:
- Time's self it is, made audible,--
- The murmur of the earth's own shell.
- Secret continuance sublime
- Is the sea's end: our sight may pass
- No furlong further. Since time was,
- This sound hath told the lapse of time.
- No quiet, which is death's,--it hath
- The mournfulness of ancient life,
- Enduring always at dull strife.
- As the world's heart of rest and wrath,
- Its painful pulse is in the sands.
- Last utterly, the whole sky stands,
- Gray and not known, along its path.
- Listen alone beside the sea,
- Listen alone among the woods;
- Those voices of twin solitudes
- Shall have one sound alike to thee:
- Hark where the murmurs of thronged men
- Surge and sink back and surge again,--
- Still the one voice of wave and tree.
- Gather a shell from the strown beach
- And listen at its lips: they sigh
- The same desire and mystery,
- The echo of the whole sea's speech.
- And all mankind is thus at heart
- Not anything but what thou art:
- And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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- O
LEAVE your hand where it lies cool - Upon the eyes whose lids are hot:
- Its rosy shade is bountiful
- Of silence, and assuages thought.
- O lay your lips against your hand
- And let me feel your breath through it,
- While through the sense your song shall fit
-
The soul to understand. - The music lives upon my brain
- Between your hands within mine eyes;
- It stirs your lifted throat like pain,
- An aching pulse of melodies.
- Lean nearer, let the music pause:
- The soul may better understand
- Your music, shadowed in your hand
-
Now while the song withdraws. - Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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-
From the French of FRANCOIS VILLON - Tell me now in what hidden way is
- Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
- Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
- Neither of them the fairer woman?
- Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
- Only heard on river and mere--
- She whose beauty was more than human?--
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
- Where's Heloise, the learned nun,
- For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
- Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
- (From Love he won such dule and teen!)
- And where, I pray you, is the Queen
- Who willed that Buridan should steer
- Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine?--
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
- White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
- With a voice like any mermaiden--
- Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
- And Ermengarde the lady of Maine--
- And that good Joan whom Englishmen
- At Rouen doomed and burned her there--
- Mother of God, where are they then?--
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
- Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
- Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
- Except with this for an overword--
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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