Sunday Morning
I
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo鹦鹉
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate 驱散
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment 侵蚀of that 深圳有什么山old catastrophe, --crucifixion
As a calm darkens among water-lights. –day is dark
The pungent辛辣的 oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound, 世界领土排名
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the as, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and pulchre坟墓.
II
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?—jesus
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or el
In any balm香膏 or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live反诈骗宣传 within herlf:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations得意 when the forest blooms; gusty大风的
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
The are the measures destined for her soul.
III
Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled哺乳 him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
计算机输出设备He moved among us, as a muttering嗫语 king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling合并, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital报复 to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradi? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradi that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.
IV
She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradi?"
There is not any haunt巢穴 of prophesy,
Nor any old chimera妖怪 of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
创业经历怎么写Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
牛肉柿子汤的家常做法12点英语Or her desire for June and evening, tipped轻触
By the consummation成就of the swallow's wings.
V
She says, "But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss."
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews 散布the leaves
Of sure obliteration闭塞 on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phra, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont 习惯于to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished放弃 to their feet.
She caus boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded忽视的 plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned 充满激情的in the littering leaves.
VI
Is there no change of death in paradi?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
清血管Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that ek for as
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why t the pear upon tho river banks
Or spice 加香料the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid乏味的 lutes! 琵琶
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within who burning bosom we devi想出
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.
VII
Supple逢迎的 and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy狂欢宴会 on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradi,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like rafin天使, and echoing hills,
That choir among themlves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.
VIII
She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay."
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail 鹌鹑
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations起伏 as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
