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Selected Poems of W. B. Yeats 作者:W.B.叶芝 英国)

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The Song of the Happy Shepherd

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Walking ghostly in the dew,

But O, sick children of the world,

I must be gone: there is a grave

The wandering earth herself may be

Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.

Nor seek, for this is also sooth,

Reading some entangled story:

And still I dream he treads the lawn,

Words alone are certain good.

To hunger fiercely after truth,

Troubling the endless reverie.

Only a sudden flaming word,

Go gather by the humming sea

No learning from the starry men,

Lest all thy toilingonly breeds

New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth

And to its lips thy story tell,

Buried under the sleepy ground,

Grey Truth is now her painted toy;

Seek, then, for this is also sooth,

His shouting days with mirth were crowned;

Rewording in melodious guile

And die a pearly brotherhood;

Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,

Who follow with the optic glass

Word be-mockers? - By the Rood,

Then nowise worship dusty deeds,

But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!

And over is their antique joy;

And I would please the hapless faun,

Of old the world on dreaming fed;

Pierced by my glad singing through,

In dreary dancing past us whirled,

Sing, then, for this is also sooth.

Of all the many changing things

Where are now the warring kings,

Where are now the watring kings?

The Song of the Happy Shepherd

For fair are poppies on the brow:

In clanging space a moment heard,

My songs of old earths dreamy youth:

THE woods of Arcady are dead,

The kings of the old time are dead;

An idle word is now their glory,

Where daffodil and lily wave,

By the stammering schoolboy said,

Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,

With mirthful songs before the dawn.

And they thy comforters will be.

And dead is all their human truth.

Thy fretful words a little while,

To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,

Yet still she turns her restless head:

The whirling ways of stars that pass -

For words alone are certain good:

Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.

Till they shall singing fade in ruth

No word of theirs - the cold star-bane

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