kings were glad to be his guests.

Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon's
altar day and night,

Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through
Ammon's carven house - and now

Foul snake and speckled adder with their young
ones crawl from stone to stone

For ruined is the house and prone the great
rose-marble monolith!

Wild ass or trotting jackal comes and couches
in the mouldering gates:

Wild satyrs call unto their mates across the
fallen fluted drums.

And on the summit of the pile the blue-faced
ape of Horus sits

And gibbers while the fig-tree splits the pillars
of the peristyle

The god is scattered here and there: deep
hidden in the windy sand

I saw his giant granite hand still clenched in
impotent despair.

And many a wandering caravan of stately
negroes silken-shawled,

Crossing the desert, halts appalled before the
neck that none can span.

And many a bearded Bedouin draws back his
yellow-striped burnous

To gaze upon the Titan thews of him who was
thy paladin.

Go, seek his fragments on the moor and
wash them in the evening dew,

And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated
paramour!

Go, seek them where they lie alone and from
their broken pieces make

Thy bruised bedfellow! And wake mad passions
in the senseless stone!

Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns! he loved
your body! oh, be kind,

Pour spikenard on his hair, and wind soft rolls
of linen round his limbs!

Wind round his head the figured coins! stain
with red fruits those pallid lips!

Weave purple for his shrunken hips! and purple
for his barren loins!

Away to Egypt! Have no fear. Only one
God has ever died.

Only one God has let His side be wounded by a
soldier's spear.

But these, thy lovers, are not dead. Still by the
hundred-cubit gate

Dog-faced Anubis sits in state with lotus-lilies
for thy head.

Still from his chair of porphyry gaunt Memnon
strains his lidless eyes

Across the empty land, and cries each yellow
morning unto thee.

And Nilus with his broken horn lies in his black
and oozy bed

And till thy coming will not spread his waters on
the withering corn.

Your lovers are not dead, I know. They will
rise up and hear your voice

And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to
kiss your mouth! And so,

Set wings upon your argosies! Set horses to
your ebon car!

Back to your Nile! Or if you are grown sick of
dead divinities

Follow some roving lion's spoor across the copper-
coloured plain,

Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid
him be your paramour!

Couch by his side upon the grass and set your
white teeth in his throat

And when you hear his dying note lash your
long flanks of polished brass

And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber
sides are flecked with black,

And ride upon his gilded back in triumph
through the Theban gate,

And toy with him in amorous jests, and when
he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,

O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise
him with your agate breasts!

Why are you tarrying? Get hence! I
weary of your sullen ways,

I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent
magnificence.

Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light
flicker in the lamp,

And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful
dews of night and death.

Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver
in some stagnant lake,

Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances
to fantastic tunes,

Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your
black throat is like the hole

Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic
tapestries.

Away! The sulphur-coloured stars are hurrying
through the Western gate!

Away! Or it may be too late to climb their silent
silver cars!

See, the dawn shivers round the grey gilt-dialled
towers, and the rain

Streams down each diamonded pane and blurs
with tears the wannish day.

What snake-tressed fury fresh from Hell, with
uncouth gestures and unclean,

Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen and led you
to a student's cell?

What songless tongueless ghost of sin crept
through the curtains of the night,

And saw my taper burning bright, and knocked,
and bade you enter in?

Are there not others more accursed, whiter with
leprosies than I?

Are Abana and Pharphar dry that you come here
to slake your thirst?

Get hence, you loathsome mystery! Hideous
animal, get hence!

You wake in me each bestial sense, you make me
what I would not be.

You make my creed a barren sham, you wake
foul dreams of sensual life,

And Atys with his blood-stained knife were
better than the thing I am.

False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx
old Charon, leaning on his oar,

Waits for my coin. Go thou before, and leave
me to my crucifix,

Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches
the world with wearied eyes,

And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps
for every soul in vain.

Poem: The Ballad Of Reading Gaol
(In memoriam

C. T. W.
Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards

obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire
July 7, 1896)

I
He did not wear his scarlet coat,

For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands

When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,

And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men

In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,

And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked

So wistfully" target="_blank" title="ad.渴望地；不满足地">wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked

With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue

Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went

With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,

Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done

A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,

'THAT FELLOW'S GOT TO SWING.'
Dear Christ! the very prison walls

Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became

Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,

My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought

Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day

With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved,

And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame

On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,

• purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
• barren [´bærən] a.贫瘠的；不生育的 (初中英语单词)
• rejoice [ri´dʒɔis] v.(使)高兴；欢庆 (初中英语单词)
• horrible [´hɔrəbəl] a.可怕的；恐怖的 (初中英语单词)
• breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
• scarlet [´skɑ:lit] n.猩红色 a.猩红的 (初中英语单词)
• throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
• western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
• reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
• coward [´kauəd] n.胆怯者 a.胆小的 (初中英语单词)
• summit [´sʌmit] n.顶(点)；绝顶 (高中英语单词)
• granite [´grænit] n.花岗岩 (高中英语单词)
• sullen [´sʌlən] a.不高兴的 (高中英语单词)
• fantastic [fæn´tæstik] a.奇异的；荒谬的 (高中英语单词)
• ballad [´bæləd] n.民歌，民谣 (高中英语单词)
• amongst [ə´mʌŋst] prep.其中之一 =among (高中英语单词)
• shabby [´ʃæbi] a.(衣服)破旧的 (高中英语单词)
• cricket [´krikit] n.蟋蟀；板球 (高中英语单词)
• flattering [´flætəriŋ] a.谄媚的；奉承的 (高中英语单词)
• caravan [´kærəvæn] n.大蓬车 (英语四级单词)
• senseless [´sensləs] a.无知觉的；愚蠢的 (英语四级单词)
• poisonous [´pɔizənəs] a.有毒的；讨厌的 (英语四级单词)
• accursed [ə´kə:sid] a.被诅咒的；可憎的 (英语四级单词)
• wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
• syrian [´siriən] a.&n.叙利亚人(的) (英语六级单词)
• steadfast [´stedfɑ:st, -fæst] a.坚定的，不动摇的 (英语六级单词)
• stagnant [´stægnənt] a.停滞的；萧条的 (英语六级单词)
• loathsome [´ləuðsəm] a.讨厌的，令人作呕的 (英语六级单词)
• trooper [´tru:pə] n.骑兵；伞兵；运兵船 (英语六级单词)
• wistfully [´wistfuli] ad.渴望地；不满足地 (英语六级单词)