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Select Poems of Sidney Lanier-Part16_Sidney Lanier(1842-1881)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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(London, 1883). Instructive, too, is Cummin's `Around Mull'

(`The Atlantic Monthly', 16. 11-19, 167-176, July, August, 1865).



The Marshes of Glynn

Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven [1]



With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven

Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs, --



Emerald twilights, --

Virginal shy lights,



Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows,

When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnades



Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,

Of the heavenly woods and glades,



That run to the radiantmarginal sand-beach within

The wide sea-marshes of Glynn; -- [11]



Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire, --

Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire,



Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves, --

Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,



Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,

Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good; --



O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine,

While the riotous noon-day sun of the June-day long did shine



Ye held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine;

But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest, [21]



And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West,

And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seem



Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream, --

Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak,



And my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of the stroke

Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low,



And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know,

And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,



That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn

Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore [31]



When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitterness sore,

And when terror and shrinking and dreary unnamable pain



Drew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain, --

Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain to face



The vast sweet visage of space.

To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn,



Where the gray beach glimmering runs, as a belt of the dawn,

For a mete and a mark



To the forest-dark: --

So: [41]



Affable live-oak, leaning low, --

Thus -- with your favor -- soft, with a reverent hand,



(Not lightlytouching your person, Lord of the land!)

Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand



On the firm-packed sand,

Free



By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.

Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band



Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land.

Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach-lines



linger and curl [51]

As a silver-wroughtgarment that clings to and follows



the firm sweet limbs of a girl.

Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,



Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light.

And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high?



The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!

A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade,



Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade,

Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain,



To the terminal blue of the main.

Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea? [61]



Somehow my soul seems suddenly free

From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin,



By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn.

Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free



Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!




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