The old man saw it in the sun's bright stare

And the colours started up through the crust,
And he who had cursed at the yellow sun

Held the flask to it and wiped away the dust.
And he bore the flask to the brightest spot,

Where the shadow of the hill fell clear;
And he turned the flask, and he looked at the flask,

And the sun shone without his sneer.
Then he carried it home, and put it on a shelf,

But it was only grey in the gloom.
So he fetched a pail, and a bit of cloth,

And he went outside with a broom.
And he washed his windows just to let the sun

Lie upon his new-found vase;
And when evening came, he moved it down

And put it on a table near the place
Where a candle fluttered in a draught from the door.

The old man forgot to swear,
Watching its shadow grown a mammoth size,

Dancing in the kitchen there.
He forgot to revile the sun next morning

When he found his vase afire in its light.
And he carried it out of the house that day,

And kept it close beside him until night.
And so it happened from day to day.

The old man fed his life
On the beauty of his vase, on its perfect shape.

And his soul forgot its former strife.
And the village-folk came and begged to see

The flagon which was dug from the ground.
And the old man never thought of an oath, in his joy

At showing what he had found.
One day the master of the village school

Passed him as he stooped at toil,
Hoeing for a bean-row, and at his side

Was the vase, on the turned-up soil.
"My friend," said the schoolmaster, pompous and kind,

"That's a valuable thing you have there,
But it might get broken out of doors,

It should meet with the utmost care.
What are you doing with it out here?"

"Why, Sir," said the poor old man,
"I like to have it about, do you see?

To be with it all I can."
"You will smash it," said the schoolmaster, sternly right,

"Mark my words and see!"
And he walked away, while the old man looked

At his treasure despondingly.
Then he smiled to himself, for it was his!

He had toiled for it, and now he cared.
Yes! loved its shape, and its subtle, swift hues,

Which his own hard work had bared.
He would carry it round with him everywhere,

As it gave him joy to do.
A fragile vase should not stand in a bean-row!

Who would dare to say so? Who?
Then his heart was rested, and his fears gave way,

And he bent to his hoe again. . . .
A clod rolled down, and his foot slipped back,

And he lurched with a cry of pain.
For the blade of the hoe crashed into glass,

And the vase fell to iridescent sherds.
The old man's body heaved with slow, dry sobs.

He did not curse, he had no words.
He gathered the fragments, one by one,

And his fingers were cut and torn.
Then he made a hole in the very place

Whence the beautiful vase had been borne.
He covered the hole, and he patted it down,

Then he hobbled to his house and shut the door.
He tore up his coat and nailed it at the windows

That no beam of light should cross the floor.
He sat down in front of the empty hearth,

And he neither ate nor drank.
In three days they found him, dead and cold,

And they said: "What a queer old crank!"
The Foreigner

Have at you, you Devils!
My back's to this tree,

For you're nothing so nice
That the hind-side of me

Would escape your assault.
Come on now, all three!

Here's a dandified gentleman,
Rapier at point,

And a wrist which whirls round
Like a circular joint.

A spatter of blood, man!
That's just to anoint

And make supple your limbs.
'Tis a pity the silk

Of your waistcoat is stained.
Why! Your heart's full of milk,

And so full, it spills over!
I'm not of your ilk.

You said so, and laughed
At my old-fashioned hose,

At the cut of my hair,
At the length of my nose.

To carve it to pattern
I think you propose.

Your pardon, young Sir,
But my nose and my sword

Are proving themselves
In quite perfect accord.

I grieve to have spotted
Your shirt. On my word!

And hullo! You Bully!
That blade's not a stick

To slash right and left,
And my skull is too thick

To be cleft with such cuffs
Of a sword. Now a lick

Down the side of your face.
What a pretty, red line!

Tell the taverns that scar
Was an honour. Don't whine

That a stranger has marked you.
* * * * *

The tree's there, You Swine!
Did you think to get in

At the back, while your friends
Made a little diversion

In front? So it ends,
With your sword clattering down

On the ground. 'Tis amends
I make for your courteous

Reception of me,
A foreigner, landed

From over the sea.
Your welcome was fervent

I think you'll agree.
My shoes are not buckled

With gold, nor my hair
Oiled and scented, my jacket's

Not satin, I wear
Corded breeches, wide hats,

And I make people stare!
So I do, but my heart

Is the heart of a man,
And my thoughts cannot twirl

In the limited span
'Twixt my head and my heels,

As some other men's can.
I have business more strange

Than the shape of my boots,
And my interests range

From the sky, to the roots
Of this dung-hill you live in,

You half-rotted shoots
Of a mouldering tree!

Here's at you, once more.
You Apes! You Jack-fools!

You can show me the door,
And jeer at my ways,

But you're pinked to the core.
And before I have done,

I will prick my name in
With the front of my steel,

And your lily-white skin
Shall be printed with me.

For I've come here to win!
Absence

My cup is empty to-night,
Cold and dry are its sides,

Chilled by the wind from the open window.
Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight.

The room is filled with the strange scent
Of wistaria blossoms.

They sway in the moon's radiance
And tap against the wall.

But the cup of my heart is still,
And cold, and empty.

When you come, it brims
Red and trembling with blood,

Heart's blood for your drinking;
To fill your mouth with love

And the bitter-sweet taste of a soul.
A Gift

See! I give myself to you, Beloved!
My words are little jars

For you to take and put upon a shelf.
Their shapes are quaint and beautiful,

And they have many pleasant colours and lustres
To recommend them.

Also the scent from them fills the room
With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.

When I shall have given you the last one,
You will have the whole of me,

But I shall be dead.
The Bungler

You glow in my heart
Like the flames of uncounted candles.

But when I go to warm my hands,
My clumsiness overturns the light,

And then I stumble
Against the tables and chairs.

Fool's Money Bags
Outside the long window,

With his head on the stone sill,
The dog is lying,

• valuable [´væljuəbəl, -jubəl] a.有价值的，贵重的 (初中英语单词)
• utmost [´ʌtməust] a.最大的 n.极端 (初中英语单词)
• circular [´sə:kjulə] a.圆形的 n.通知 (初中英语单词)
• old-fashioned [´əuld´feʃənd] a.老式的；过时的 (初中英语单词)
• pardon [´pɑ:dən] n.&vt.原谅；饶恕；赦免 (初中英语单词)
• grieve [gri:v] v.&n.(使)悲痛；哀悼 (初中英语单词)
• foreigner [´fɔrinə] n.外国人 (初中英语单词)
• welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
• recommend [,rekə´mend] vt.推荐；使受欢迎 (初中英语单词)
• draught [drɑ:ft] n.通风，通气；吸出 (高中英语单词)
• sternly [´stə:nli] ad.严厉地；坚定地 (高中英语单词)
• limited [´limitid] a.有限(制)的 (高中英语单词)
• quaint [kweint] a.离奇的；奇妙的 (高中英语单词)
• sweetness [´swi:tnis] n.甜蜜；芳香；亲切 (高中英语单词)
• schoolmaster [´sku:l,mɑ:stə] n.教练；(男)教师 (英语四级单词)
• fragile [´frædʒail] a.易碎的；虚弱的 (英语四级单词)
• breeches [´britʃiz] n.裤子；马裤 (英语四级单词)
• mammoth [´mæməθ] a.庞大的 (英语六级单词)
• iridescent [,iri´desənt] a.彩虹的 (英语六级单词)
• waistcoat [´weskət, ´weiskəut] n.背心，马甲 (英语六级单词)