the home book of verse-1-第58章
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With shapes and colors rife；
Bound dizzily； … mistake my end； to slake thy thirst：
So； take and use thy work：
Amend what flaws may lurk；
What strain o' the stuff； what warpings past the aim！
My times be in thy hand！
Perfect the cup as planned！
Let age approve of youth； and death complete the same！
Robert Browning ＇1812…1889＇
HUMAN LIFE
Sad is our youth； for it is ever going；
Crumbling away beneath our very feet；
Sad is our life； for onward it is flowing；
In current unperceived because so fleet；
Sad are our hopes for they were sweet in sowing；
But tares； self…sown； have overtopped the wheat；
Sad are our joys； for they were sweet in blowing；
And still； O still； their dying breath is sweet：
And sweet is youth； although it hath bereft us
Of that which made our childhood sweeter still；
And sweet our life's decline； for it hath left us
A nearer Good to cure an older Ill：
And sweet are all things； when we learn to prize them
Not for their sake； but His who grants them or denies them。
Aubrey Thomas de Vere ＇1814…1902＇
YOUNG AND OLD
From 〃The Water Babies〃
When all the world is young； lad；
And all the trees are green；
And every goose a swan； lad；
And every lass a queen；
Then hey for boot and horse； lad；
And round the world away；
Young blood must have its course； lad；
And every dog his day。
When all the world is old； lad；
And all the trees are brown；
And all the sport is stale； lad；
And all the wheels run down：
Creep home； and take your place there；
The spent and maimed among：
God grant you find one face there
You loved when all was young。
Charles Kingsley ＇1819…1875＇
THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO
Oh； a wonderful stream is the River Time；
As it flows through the realm of Tears；
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme；
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime
As it blends with the ocean of Years。
How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow！
And the summers like buds between；
And the year in the sheaf … so they come and they go
On the River's breast with its ebb and flow；
As they glide in the shadow and sheen。
There's a magical Isle up the River Time
Where the softest of airs are playing；
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime；
And a voice as sweet as a vesper chime；
And the Junes with the roses are staying。
And the name of this Isle is the Long Ago；
And we bury our treasures there；
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow …
They are heaps of dust； but we loved them so！
There are trinkets and tresses of hair。
There are fragments of song that nobody sings；
And a part of an infant's prayer；
There's a harp unswept and a lute without strings；
There are broken vows and pieces of rings；
And the garments that she used to wear。
There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore
By the mirage is lifted in air；
And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before；
When the wind down the River is fair。
Oh； remembered for aye be the blessed Isle
All the day of our life till night；
And when evening comes with its beautiful smile；
And our eyes are closing in slumber awhile；
May that 〃Greenwood〃 of soul be in sight。
Benjamin Franklin Taylor ＇1819…1887＇
GROWING OLD
What is it to grow old？
Is it to lose the glory of the form；
The lustre of the eye？
Is it for beauty to forego her wealth？
… Yes； but not this alone。
Is it to feel our strength …
Not our bloom only； but our strength … decay？
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer； every function less exact；
Each nerve more loosely strung？
Yes； this； and more； but not …
Ah； 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be！
'Tis not to have our life
Mellowed and softened as with sunset glow；
A golden day's decline。
'Tis not to see the world
As from a height； with rapt prophetic eyes；
And heart profoundly stirred；
And weep； and feel the fulness of the past；
The years that are no more。
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young；
It is to add； immured
In the hot prison of the present； month
To month with weary pain。
It is to suffer this；
And feel but half； and feebly； what we feel。
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change；
But no emotion … none。
It is！ … last stage of all …
When we are frozen up within； and quite
The phantom of ourselves；
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blessed the living man。
Matthew Arnold ＇1822…1888＇
PAST
The clocks are chiming in my heart
Their cobweb chime；
Old murmurings of days that die；
The sob of things a…drifting by。
The clocks are chiming in my heart！
The stars have twinkled； and gone out …
Fair candles blown！
The hot desires burn low； and wan
Those ashy fires； that flamed anon。
The stars have twinkled； and gone out！
John Galsworthy ＇1867…1933＇
TWILIGHT
When I was young the twilight seemed too long。
How often on the western window…seat
I leaned my book against the misty pane
And spelled the last enchanting lines again；
The while my mother hummed an ancient song；
Or sighed a little and said： 〃The hour is sweet！〃
When I； rebellious； clamored for the light。
But now I love the soft approach of night；
And now with folded hands I sit and dream
While all too fleet the hours of twilight seem；
And thus I know that I am growing old。
O granaries of Age！ O manifold
And royal harvest of the common years！
There are in all thy treasure…house no ways
But lead by soft descent and gradual slope
To memories more exquisite than hope。
Thine is the Iris born of olden tears；
And thrice more happy are the happy days
That live divinely in the lingering rays。
A。 Mary F。 Robinson ＇1857…
YOUTH AND AGE
Youth hath many charms； …
Hath many joys； and much delight；
Even its doubts； and vague alarms；
By contrast make it bright：
And yet … and yet … forsooth；
I love Age as well as Youth！
Well； since I love them both；
The good of both I will combine； …
In women； I will look for Youth；
And look for Age； in wine：
And then … and then … I'll bless
This twain that gives me happiness！
George Arnold ＇1834…1865＇
FORTY YEARS ON
Forty years on； when afar and asunder
Parted are those who are singing today；
When you look back； and forgetfully wonder
What you were like in your work and your play；
Then； it may be； there will often come o'er you
Glimpses of notes like the catch of a song …
Visions of boyhood shall float them before you；
Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along。
Follow up！ Follow up！ Follow up！ Follow up！
Till the field ring again and again；
With the tramp of the twenty…two men；
Follow up！ Follow up！
Routs and discomfitures； rushes and rallies；
Bases attempted； and rescued； and won；
Strife without anger； and art without malice； …
How will it seem to you forty years on？
Then； you will say； not a feverish minute
Strained the weak heart； and the wavering knee；
Never the battle raged hottest； but in it
Neither the last nor the faintest were we！
Follow up！ Follow up！
O the great days； in the distance enchanted；
Days of fresh air； in the rain and the sun；
How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted …
Hardly believable forty years on！
How we discoursed of them； one with another；
Auguring triumph； or balancing fate；
Loved the ally with the heart of a brother；
Hated the foe with a playing at hate！
Follow up！ Follow up！
Forty years on； growing older and older；
Shorter in wind； and in memory long；
Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder；
What will it help you that once you were strong？
God gives us bases to guard or beleaguer；
Games to play out； whether earnest or fun；
Fights for the fearless； and goals for the eager；
Twenty； and thirty； and forty years on！
Follow up！ Follow up！
Edward Ernest Bowen ＇1836…1901＇
DREGS
The fire is out； and spent the warmth thereof；
（This is the end of every song man sings！）
The golden wine is drunk； the dregs remain；
Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain；
And health and hope have gone the way of love
Into the drear oblivion of lost things。
Ghosts go along with us until the end；
This was a mistress； this； perhaps； a friend。
With pale； indifferent eyes； we sit and wait
For the dropped curtain and the closing gate：
This is the end of all the songs man sings。
Ernest Dowson ＇1867…1900＇
THE PARADOX OF TIME
A Variation On Ronsard
〃Le temps s'en va； le temps s'en va； ma dame！
Las！ le temps non： mais nous nous en allons！〃
Time goes； you say？ Ah no！
Alas； Time stays； we go；
Or else； were this not so；
What need to chain the hours；
For Youth were always ours？
Time goes； you say？ … ah no！
Ours is the eyes' deceit
Of men whose flying feet
Lead through some landscape low；
We pass； and think we see
The earth's fixed surface flee： …
Alas； Time stays … we go！
Once in the days of old；
Your locks were curling gold；
And mine had shamed the crow。
Now； in the self…same stage；
We've reached the silver age；
Time goes； you say？ … ah no！
Once； when my voice was strong；
I filled the woods with song
To praise your 〃rose〃 and 〃snow〃；
My bird； that sang； is dead；
Where are your roses fled？
Alas； Time stays … we go！
See； in what traversed ways；
What backward Fate delays
The hopes we used to know；
Where are our old desires？ …
Ah； where those vanished fires？
Time goes； you say？ … ah no！
How far； how far； O sweet；
The past behind our feet
Lies in the even…glow！
Now； on the forward way；
Let us fold hands； and pray；
Alas； Time stays； … we go！
Austin Dobson ＇1840…1921＇
AGE
Snow and stars； the same as ever
In the days when I was young； …
But their silver song； ah never；
Never now is sung！
Cold the stars are； cold the earth is；
Everything is grim and cold！
Strange and drear the sound of mirth is …
Life and I are old！
William Winter ＇1836…1917＇
OMNIA SOMNIA
Dawn drives the dreams away； yet some abide。
Once； in a tide of pale and sunless weather；
I dreamed I wandered on a bare hillside；
When suddenly the birds sang all together。
Still it was Winter； even in the dream；
There was no leaf nor bud nor young grass springing；
The skies shone cold above the frost…bound stream：
It was not Spring； and yet the birds were singing。
Blackbird and thrush and plaintive willow…wren；
Chaffinch and lark and linnet； all were calling；
A golden web of music held me then；
Innumerable voices； rising； falling。
O； never do the birds of April sing
More sweet than in that dream I still remember：
Perchance the heart may kee
