华兹华斯诗10首
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky:
So be it when I shall grow old,
The Child is father of the Man
And I could wish my days to be Bound
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. ____William Wordsworth
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep?
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
If thou indeed derive thy light from heaven Then,
to the measure of that heaven-born light
Are yet of no diviner origin No putter essence,
than the one that burns, Like an untended watch-fire,
on the ridge Of some dark mountain;
Or than those which seem Humbly to hang,
Among the branches of the leafless tress;
All are the undying offspring of one Sire Then,
to the measure of the light vouchsafed,
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! How hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renewed my fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more:
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
So full was I of slumber at the moment
In which I had abandoned the true way.
But after I had reached a mountain's foot,
At that point where the valley terminated,
Which had with consternation pierced my heart,
Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,
Vested already with the planet's rays
Which leadeth others right by every road.
Then was the fear a little quieted
That in my heart's lake had endured throughout
The night, which I passed so piteously,
And even as he, who, with distressful breath,
Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,
Turns to the water perilous and gazes,
So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,
Turn itself back to re-behold the pass
Which never yet a living person left.
She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight； A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament； Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair； Like Twilight’s too, her dusky hair； But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn； A dancing Shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay． I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty； A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet； A Creature not too bright or good For human nature’s daily food； For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine； A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveler between life and death； The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill； A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command； And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light．
当她初次在我面前闪现， 那真是一个快乐的幽灵； 这个可爱的幻象， 在人世瞬息间略显风韵； 她的秀发是昏夜中淡淡的黑幕， 她的双眼是微暗中皎洁的星辰； 一切都归于喜阅的黎明， 一切都来自勃发的青春； 舞姿翩翩，体态轻盈， 时时纠缠，偷袭频频， 有时让人喜不自胜， 有时让人胆战心惊。 我随后看到她近在咫尺， 是幽灵又是鲜活的女性！ 常人的举止轻快洒脱， 少女的步态烂漫天真； 容颜中透露甜蜜的回忆， 表情里显现温柔的应允； 她并非超凡脱俗， 她有人间的常情： 淡淡的哀愁，小小的手腕， 褒、贬、笑、爱、泪水和亲吻。 现在, 目睹她超人的神态， 我的心里风平浪静； 她在呼吸她在思索她有生命， 她是尘世的过客在生与死间穿行； 有健全的理智， 有常人的恒心， 警示、抚慰、任由支配， 力量、机巧、远见、容忍， 她是淑女典型, 她是玉质天成； 虽依旧还是一个幻影， 却闪耀着天使的光明。
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
They stretched in never-ending line
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
That lightly draws its breath,
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad: (clad: clothed)
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
“How many? Seven in all,” she said,
“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
And two of us at Conway dwell,
“Two of us in the church-yard lie,
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Then did the little Maid reply,
Two of us in the church-yard lie;
Beneath the church-yard tree.”
“You run about, my little maid,
If two are in the church-yard laid,
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
“My stockings there often knit,
And there upon the ground I sit,
“The first that died was sister Jane;
Till God released her of her pain;
“So in the church-yard she was laid;
Together round her grave we played,
“And when the ground was white with snow,
My brother John was forced to go,
“How many are you, then,” said I,
Quick was little Maid’s reply,
“But they are dead; those two are dead!
’Twas throwing words away; for still (’Twas = It was)
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration, the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder--everlastingly;
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.'
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
Give themselves up to jollity,
Doth every Beast keep holiday;—
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
The fulness of your bliss, I feel— I feel it all.
While the Earth herself is adorning,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
— But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
And unto this he frames his song:
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, —
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: —
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts today
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears
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