« AnteriorContinuar »
Till life's right hand be loosened from thine hand And thy life-days from thee.
For the gods very subtly fashion
And on the bridal wools a stain;
And girdled pleasure about with pain; And strewed one marriage-bed with tears and fire For extreme loathing and supreme desire.
What shall be done with all these tears of ours?
Shall they make water-springs in the fair heaven To bathe the brows of morning? or like flowers Be shed and shine before the starriest hours,
Or made the raiment of the weeping Seven?
A great well-head of lamentation
Seeing all your iron heaven is gilt as gold
Smite the gates barred with groanings manifold,
We labour, and are clad and fed with grief And filled with days we would not fain behold And nights we would not hear of; we wax old, All we wax old and wither like a leaf.
We are outcast, strayed between bright sun and moon;
And the worm finds it soon.
For death is deep as the sea,
Or the south-wind offer thee love?
Till thou say in thine heart Enough?
The light of the spring in thine eyes, and the sound in thine ears;
Yet thine heart shall wax heavy with sighs and thine eyelids with tears.
Wilt thou cover thine hair with gold, and with silver thy feet?
Hast thou taken the purple to fold thee, and made thy mouth sweet?
Behold, when thy face is made bare, he that loved thee shall hate;
Thy face shall be no more fair at the fall of thy fate. For thy life shall fall as a leaf and be shed as the rain; And the veil of thine head shall be grief; and the crown shall be pain.
[Poems and Ballads, First Series 1866.]
WHO hath known the ways of time
There is no such man among men.
In time wax bitter again.
Or who the abundance of tears?
And a sword gone thorough mine ears,
Lest I die, being full of my fears?
Who hath known the ways and the wrath,
The divine device of a god?
Who shall behold it or hath?
Ye were mighty in heart from of old,
Sore after summer is
And melteth man to the bone.
As a flower, as an hour in a day,
Or ever our tears began,
It was known from of old and said; One law for a living man,
And another law for the dead. For these are fearful and sad,
Vain, and things without breath; While he lives let a man be glad, For none hath joy of his death.
Who hath known the pain, the old pain of earth, Or all the travail of the sea,
The many ways and waves, the birth
Jiriczek, Englische Dichter.
Fruitless, the labour nothing worth?
Who hath known, who knoweth, O gods? not we. There is none shall say he hath seen,
There is none he hath known.
I have seen the desire of mine eyes,
The season of kisses and sighs
I have known the ways of the sea,
Strange winds have spoken with me,
I have seen from their bridled lips
With snapping of chariot-poles
I have grazed in the race the goals,
As a greave is cleft with an arrow
I have cleft through the sea-straits narrow
When air was smitten in sunder
I have watched on high
The ways of the stars and the thunder
In the night of the sky;
Where the dark brings forth light as a flower,
One abideth the space of an hour,
Lo, what hath he seen or known