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Poems-Part12_Alan Seeger(1888-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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You whose bright youth it might have thrilled my breast to know,

Drink . . . and perhaps my lips, insatiate even then



Of lips to hang upon, may find their loved ones so.

Unto the flush of dawn and evening I commend



This immaterial self and flamelike part of me, --

Unto the azure haze that hangs at the world's end,



The sunshine on the hills, the starlight on the sea, --

Unto angelic Earth, whereof the lives of those



Who love and dream great dreams and deeply feel may be

The elemental cells and nervules that compose



Its divineconsciousness and joy and harmony.

Fragments



I

In that fair capital where Pleasure, crowned



Amidst her myriad courtiers, riots and rules,

I too have been a suitor. Radiant eyes



Were my life's warmth and sunshine, outspread arms

My gilded deep horizons. I rejoiced



In yielding to all amorous influence

And multiple impulsion of the flesh,



To feel within my being surge and sway

The force that all the stars acknowledge too.



Amid the nebulous humanity

Where I an atom crawled and cleaved and sundered,



I saw a million motions, but one law;

And from the city's splendor to my eyes



The vapors passed and there was nought but Love,

A fermentturbulent, intensely fair,



Where Beauty beckoned and where Strength pursued.

II



There was a time when I thought much of Fame,

And laid the golden edifice to be



That in the clear light of eternity

Should fitly house the glory of my name.



But swifter than my fingers pushed their plan,

Over the fair foundationscarce begun,



While I with lovers dallied in the sun,

The ivy clambered and the rose-vine ran.



And now, too late to see my vision, rise,

In place of golden pinnacles and towers,



Only some sunny mounds of leaves and flowers,

Only beloved of birds and butterflies.



My friends were duped, my favorers deceived;

But sometimes, musing sorrowfully there,



That flowered wreck has seemed to me so fair

I scarce regret the temple unachieved.



III

For there were nights . . . my love to him whose brow



Has glistened with the spoils of nights like those,

Home turning as a conqueror turns home,



What time green dawn down every street uprears

Arches of triumph! He has drained as well



Joy's perfumed bowl and cried as I have cried:

Be Fame their mistress whom Love passes by.



This only matters: from some flowery bed,

Laden with sweetness like a homing bee,



If one have known what bliss it is to come,

Bearing on hands and breast and laughing lips



The fragrance of his youth's dear rose. To him

The hills have bared their treasure, the far clouds



Unveiled the vision that o'er summer seas

Drew on his thirsting arms. This last thing known,



He can court danger, laugh at perilous odds,

And, pillowed on a memory so sweet,



Unto oblivious eternity

Without regret yield his victorious soul,



The blessedpilgrim of a vow fulfilled.

IV



What is Success? Out of the endless ore

Of deep desire to coin the utmost gold



Of passionate memory; to have lived so well

That the fifth moon, when it swims up once more



Through orchard boughs where mating orioles build




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