不要中文對照，也不要網頁，直接詩過來，多謝

bltcmr2014-03-31

1

I thought once how Theocritus had sung

Of the sweet years， the dear and wished-for years，

Who each one in a gracious hand appears

To bear a gift for mortals， old or young：

And， as I mused it in his antique tongue，

I saw， in gradual vision through my tears，

The sweet， sad years， the melancholy years，

Those of my own life， who by turns had flung

A shadow across me。 Straightway I was ‘ware，

So weeping， how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me， and drew me backward by the hair；

And a voice said in mastery， while I strove， ——

`Guess now who holds thee？’ —— `Death。‘ I said。 But， there

The silver answer rang， —— `Not Death， but love。’

2

But only three in all God‘s universe

Have heard this word thou hast said， —— Himself， beside

Thee speaking， and me listening！ and replied

One of us 。。。 _that_ was God， 。。。 and laid the curse

So darkly on my eyelids， as to amerce

My sight from seeing thee， —— that if I had died，

The death-weights， placed there， would have signified

Less absolute exclusion。 `Nay’ is worse

From God than from all others， O my friend！

Men could not part us with their worldly jars，

Nor the seas change us， nor the tempests bend；

Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars

And， heaven being rolled between us at the end，

We should but vow the faster for the stars。

3

Unlike are we， unlike， O princely Heart！

Unlike our uses and our destinies。

Our ministering two angels look surprise

On one another， as they strike athwart

Their wings in passing。 Thou， bethink thee， art

A guest for queens to social pageantries，

With gages from a hundred brighter eyes

Than tears even can make mine， to play thy part

Of chief musician。 What hast thou to do

With looking from the lattice-lights at me，

A poor， tired， wandering singer， 。。。 singing through

The dark， and leaning up a cypress tree？

The chrism is on thine head， —— on mine， the dew， ——

And Death must dig the level where these agree。

4

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor，

Most gracious singer of the high poems！ where

The dancers will break footing， from the care

Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more。

And dost thou lift this house‘s latch too poor

For hand of thine？ and canst thou think and bear

To let thy music drop here unaware

In folds of golden fulness at my door？

Look up and see the casement broken in，

The bats and owlets builders in the roof！

My cricket chirps against thy mandolin。

Hush， call no echo up in further proof

Of desolation！ there’s a voice within

That weeps 。。。 as thou must sing 。。。 alone， aloof。

5

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly，

As once Electra her sepulchral urn，

And， looking in thine eyes， I overturn

The ashes at thy feet。 Behold and see

What a great heap of grief lay hid ［1］ in me，

And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

Through the ashen greyness。 If thy foot in scorn

Could tread them out to darkness utterly，

It might be well perhaps。 But if instead

Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

The grey dust up， 。。。 those laurels on thine head，

O my Beloved， will not shield thee so，

That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

The hair beneath。 Stand further off then！ go。

6

Go from me。 Yet I feel that I shall stand

Henceforward in thy shadow。 Nevermore

Alone upon the threshold of my door

Of individual life， I shall command

The uses of my soul， nor lift my hand

Serenely in the sunshine as before，

Without the sense of that which I forbore ——

Thy touch upon the palm。 The widest land

Doom takes to part us， leaves thy heart in mine

With pulses that beat double。 What I do

And what I dream include thee， as the wine

Must taste of its own grapes。 And when I sue

God for myself， He hears the name of thine，

And sees within my eyes the tears of two。

7

The face of all the world is changed， I think，

Since first I heard of the footsteps of thy soul

Move still， oh， still， beside me， as they stole

betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink

Of obvious death， where I， who thought to sink，

Was caught up into love， and taught the whole

Of life in a new rhythm。 The cup of dole

God gave for baptism， I am fain to drink，

And praise its sweetness， Sweet， with thee anear。

The names of a country， heaven， are changed away

For where thou art or shalt be， there or here；

And this 。。。 this lute and song 。。。 loved yesterday

（ The singing angels know ） are only dear

Because thy name moves right in what they say。

8

What can I give thee back， O liberal

And Princely giver， who hast brought the gold

And purple of thine heart， unstained， untold，

And laid them on the outside of the wall

For such as I to take or leave withal，

In unexpected largesse？ am I cold，

Ungrateful， that for these most manifold

High gifts， I render nothing back at all？

Not so； not cold， —— but very poor instead。

Ask God who knows。 For frequent tears have run

The colours from my life， and left so dead

And pale a stuff， it were not fitly done

To give the same as pillow to thy head。

Go further！ let it serve to trample on。

9

Can it be right to give what I can give？

To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears

As salt as mine， and hear the sighing years

Re-sighing on my lips renunciative

Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live

For all thy adjurations？ O my fears，

That this can scarce be right！ We are not peers

So to be lovers； and I own， and grieve，

That givers of such gifts as mine are， must

Be counted with the ungenerous。 Out， alas！

I will not soil thy purple with my dust，

Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass，

Nor give thee any love —— which were unjust。

Beloved， I only love thee！ let it pass。

10

Sonnets from the Portuguese

Yet， love， mere love， is beautiful indeed

And worthy of acceptation。 Fire is bright，

Let temple burn， or flax。 And equal light

Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed。

And love is fire。 And when I say at need

_I love thee 。。。 mark！ 。。。 _I love thee_ —— in thy sight

I stand transfigured， glorified aright，

With conscience of the new rays that proceed

Out of my face toward thine。 There‘s nothing low

In love， when love the lowest： meanest creatures

Who love God， God accepts while loving so。

And what I _feel_， across the inferior features

11

The sonnets from the Portuguese

And therefore if to love can be desert，

I am not all unworthy。 Cheeks as pale

As these you see， and trembling knees that fail

To bear the burden of a heavy heart。 ——

This weary minstrel-life that once was girt

To climb Aornus， and can scare avail

to pipe now ’gainst the valley nightingale

A melancholy music， why advert

To these things？ O belov\`ed， it is plain

I am not of thy worth nor for thy place！

And yet， because I love thee， I obtain

From that same love this vindicating grace，

To live on still in love， and yet in vain， 。。。

To bless thee， yet renounce thee to thy face。

12

Indeed this very love which is my boast，

And which， when rising up from breast to brow，

Doth crown me with a ruby large enow

To draw men‘s eyes and prove the inner cost， 。。。

This love even， all my worth， to the uttermost，

I should not love withal， unless that thou

Hadst set me an example， shown me how，

When first time thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed

And love called love。 And thus， I cannot speak

Of love even， as a good thing of my own。

Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak

And placed by thee on a golden throne， ——

And that I love （O soul， we must meek！）

Is by thee only， whom I love alone。

13

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech

The love I bear thee， finding words enough，

And hold the torch out， while the winds are rough

Between our faces， to cast light on each？ ——

I drop it thy feet。 I cannot teach

My hands to hold my spirit so far off

From myself 。。。 me 。。。 that I should bring thee proof

In words， of love hid in me out of reach。

Nay， let the silence of my womanhood

command my woman-love to thy belief， ——

Seeing that I stand unwon， however wooed，

And rend the garment of my life， in brief，

By a most dauntless， voiceless fortitude，

Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief。

14

If thou must love me， let it be for nought

Except for love’s sake only。 Do not say

`I love her for her smile 。。。 her look 。。。 her way

Of speaking gently， 。。。 for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine， and certes brought ［certes： certainly］

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day‘ ——

For these things in themselves， Belov\`ed， may

Be changed， or change for thee， —— and love， so wrought ［wrought： worked］

May be unwrought so。 Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry， ——

A creature might forget to weep， who bore

Thy comfort long， and lose thy love thereby！

But love for love‘s sake， that evermore

Thou may’st love on， through love‘s eternity。

15

EBB “The sonnets from the Portuguese”， No。 XV

Accuse me not， beseech thee， that I wear

Too calm and sad a face in front of thine；

For we too look two ways， and can not shine

With the same sunlight on our brow and hair。

On me thou lookest with no doubting care，

As on a bee shut in a crystalline， ——

Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love’s divine，

And to spread wing and fly in the outer air

Were most impossible failure， if I strove

To fail so。 But I look on thee —— on thee ——

Beholding， besides love， the end of love，

Hearing oblivion beyond memory！

As one who sits and gazes from above，

Over the rivers of the bitter sea。

16

And yet， because thou overcomest so，

Because thou art more noble and like a king，

Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling

thy purple round me， till my heart shall grow

Too close against thine heart henceforth to know

How it shook when alone。 Why， conquering

May prove as lordly and complete a thing

In lifting upward， as in crushing low！

And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword

To one who lifts him from the bloody earth， ——

Even so， Beloved， I at last record，

Here ends my strife。 If _thou_ invite me forth，

I rise above abasement at the word。

Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth。

之後的打不下了，請諒解