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Poems-Volume 1-Part4_George Meredith(1818-1909)_English Literature(文学名著)

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On lights as quiet as their own;
The streets that groaned with traffic show

As if with silence paved below;
The latest revellers are at peace,

The signs of in-door tumult cease,
From gay saloon and low resort,

Comes not one murmur or report:
The clattering chariot rolls not by,

The windows show no waking eye,
The houses smoke not, and the air

Is clear, and all the midnight fair.
The centre of the striving world,

Round which the human fate is curled,
To which the future crieth wild, -

Is pillowed like a cradled child.
The palace roof that guards a crown,

The mansion swathed in dreamy down,
Hovel, court, and alley-shed,

Sleep in the calmness of the dead.
Now while the many-motived heart

Lies hushed--fireside and busy mart,
And mortal pulses beat the tune

That charms the calm cold ear o' the moon
Whose yellowing crescent down the West

Leans listening, now when every breast
Its basest or its purest heaves,

The soul that joys, the soul that grieves; -
While Fame is crowning happy brows

That day will blindly scorn, while vows
Of anguished love, long hidden, speak

From faltering tongue and flushing cheek
The language only known to dreams,

Rich eloquence of rosy themes!
While on the Beauty's folded mouth

Disdain just wrinkles baby youth;
While Poverty dispenses alms

To outcasts, bread, and healing balms;
While old Mammon knows himself

The greatest beggar for his pelf;
While noble things in darkness grope,

The Statesman's aim, the Poet's hope;
The Patriot's impulse gathers fire,

And germs of future fruits aspire; -
Now while dumb nature owns its links,

And from one common fountain drinks,
Methinks in all around I see

This Picture in Eternity; -
A marbled City planted there

With all its pageants and despair;
A peopled hush, a Death not dead,

But stricken with Medusa's head; -
And in the Gorgon's glance for aye

The lifeless immortality
Reveals in sculptured calmness all

Its latest life beyond recall.
THE POETRY OF CHAUCER

Grey with all honours of age! but fresh-featured and ruddy
As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard has thrice heard Chaunticlere.

Tender to tearfulness--childlike, and manly, and motherly;
Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English

ground.
THE POETRY OF SPENSER

Lakes where the sunsheen is mystic with splendour and softness;
Vales where sweet life is all Summer with golden romance:

Forests that glimmer with twilight round revel-bright palaces;
Here in our May-blood we wander, careering 'mongst ladies and

knights.
THE POETRY OF SHAKESPEARE

Picture some Isle smiling green 'mid the white-foaming ocean; -
Full of old woods, leafy wisdoms, and frolicsome fays;

Passions and pageants; sweet love singing bird-like above it;
Life in all shapes, aims, and fates, is there warm'd by one great

human heart.
THE POETRY OF MILTON

Like to some deep-chested organ whose grand inspiration,
Serenely majestic in utterance, lofty and calm,

Interprets to mortals with melody great as its burthen
The mystical harmonies chiming for ever throughout the bright

spheres.
THE POETRY OF SOUTHEY

Keen as an eagle whose flight towards the dim empyrean
Fearless of toil or fatigue ever royally wends!

Vast in the cloud-coloured robes of the balm-breathing Orient
Lo! the grand Epic advances, unfolding the humanest truth.

THE POETRY OF COLERIDGE
A brook glancing under green leaves, self-delighting, exulting,

And full of a gurgling melody ever renewed -
Renewed thro' all changes of Heaven, unceasing in sunlight,

Unceasing in moonlight, but hushed in the beams of the holier orb.
THE POETRY OF SHELLEY

See'st thou a Skylark whose glistening winglets ascending
Quiver like pulses beneath the melodious dawn?

Deep in the heart-yearning distance of heaven it flutters -
Wisdom and beauty and love are the treasures it brings down at eve.

THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH
A breath of the mountains, fresh born in the regions majestic,

That look with their eye-daring summits deep into the sky.
The voice of great Nature; sublime with her lofty conceptions,

Yet earnest and simple as any sweet child of the green lowly vale.
THE POETRY OF KEATS

The song of a nightingale sent thro' a slumbrous valley,
Low-lidded with twilight, and tranced with the dolorous sound,

Tranced with a tender enchantment; the yearning of passion
That wins immortality even while panting delirious with death.

VIOLETS
Violets, shy violets!

How many hearts with you compare!
Who hide themselves in thickest green,

And thence, unseen,
Ravish the enraptured air

With sweetness, dewy fresh and rare!
Violets, shy violets!

Human hearts to me shall be
Viewless violets in the grass,

And as I pass,
Odours and sweet imagery

Will wait on mine and gladden me!
ANGELIC LOVE

Angelic love that stoops with heavenly lips
To meet its earthly mate;

Heroic love that to its sphere's eclipse
Can dare to join its fate

With one beloveddevoted human heart,
And share with it the passion and the smart,

The undying bliss
Of its most fleeting kiss;

The fading grace
Of its most sweet embrace:-

Angelic love, heroic love!
Whose birth can only be above,

Whose wandering must be on earth,
Whose haven where it first had birth!

Love that can part with all but its own worth,
And joy in every sacrifice

That beautifies its Paradise!
And gently, like a golden-fruited vine,

With earnesttenderness itself consign,
And creeping up deliriously entwine

Its dear delicious arms
Round the beloved being!

With fair unfolded charms,
All-trusting, and all-seeing, -

Grape-laden with full bunches of young wine!
While to the panting heart's dry yearning drouth

Buds the rich dewy mouth -
Tenderly uplifted,

Like two rose-leaves drifted
Down in a long warm sigh of the sweet South!

Such love, such love is thine,
Such heart is mine,

O thou of mortal visions most divine!
TWILIGHT MUSIC

Know you the low pervading breeze
That softly sings

In the trembling leaves of twilight trees,
As if the wind were dreaming on its wings?

And have you marked their still degrees
Of ebbing melody, like the strings

Of a silver harp swept by a spirit's hand
In some strange glimmering land,

'Mid gushing springs,
And glistenings

Of waters and of planets, wild and grand!
And have you marked in that still time

The chariots of those shining cars
Brighten upon the hushing dark,

And bent to hark
That Voice, amid the poplar and the lime,

Pause in the dilating lustre
Of the spheral cluster;

Pause but to renew its sweetness, deep
As dreams of heaven to souls that sleep!

And felt, despite earth's jarring wars,
When day is done

And dead the sun,
Still a voice divine can sing,

Still is there sympathy can bring
A whisper from the stars!

Ah, with this sentience quickly will you know
How like a tree I tremble to the tones

Of your sweet voice!
How keenly I rejoice

When in me with sweet motions slow
The spiritual music ebbs and moans -

Lives in the lustre of those heavenly eyes,
Dies in the light of its own paradise, -

Dies, and relives eternal from its death,
Immortal melodies in each deep breath;

Sweeps thro' my being, bearing up to thee
Myself, the weight of its eternity;

Till, nerved to life from its ordeal fire,
It marries music with the human lyre,

Blending divine delight with loveliest desire.
REQUIEM

Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are dewless,
Where passion is silent and hearts never crave;

Where thought hath no theme, and where sleep hath no dream,
In patience and peace thou art gone--to thy grave!

Gone where no warning can wake thee to morning,
Dead tho' a thousand hands stretch'd out to save.

Thou cam'st to us sighing, and singing and dying,


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