the three taverns-第1部分

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The　Three　Taverns



by　Edwin　Arlington　Robinson






A　Book　of　Poems




To　THOMAS　SERGEANT　PERRY　and　LILLA　CABOT　PERRY









Contents







The　Valley　of　the　Shadow

The　Wandering　Jew

Neighbors

The　Mill

The　Dark　Hills

The　Three　Taverns

Demos　I

Demos　II

The　Flying　Dutchman

Tact

On　the　Way

John　Brown

The　False　Gods

Archibald's　Example

London　Bridge

Tasker　Norcross

A　Song　at　Shannon's

Souvenir

Discovery

Firelight

The　New　Tenants

Inferential

The　Rat

Rahel　to　Varnhagen

Nimmo

Peace　on　Earth

Late　Summer

An　Evangelist's　Wife

The　Old　King's　New　Jester

Lazarus





Several　poems　included　in　this　book　appeared　originally

in　American　periodicals；　as　follows：　　The　Three　Taverns；　London　Bridge；

A　Song　at　Shannon's；　The　New　Tenants；　Discovery；　John　Brown；

Archibald's　Example；　The　Valley　of　the　Shadow；　Nimmo；　The　Wandering　Jew；

Souvenir；　Neighbors；　Tact；　Demos；　The　Mill；　An　Evangelist's　Wife；

Firelight；　Late　Summer；　Inferential；　The　Flying　Dutchman；

On　the　Way；　The　False　Gods；　Peace　on　Earth；　The　Old　King's　New　Jester。











　　　…

　　　　The　Three　Taverns

　　　…











The　Valley　of　the　Shadow







There　were　faces　to　remember　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

There　were　faces　unregarded；　there　were　faces　to　forget；

There　were　fires　of　grief　and　fear　that　are　a　few　forgotten　ashes；

There　were　sparks　of　recognition　that　are　not　forgotten　yet。

For　at　first；　with　an　amazed　and　overwhelming　indignation

At　a　measureless　malfeasance　that　obscurely　willed　it　thus；

They　were　lost　and　unacquainted　　till　they　found　themselves　in　others；

Who　had　groped　as　they　were　groping　where　dim　ways　were　perilous。



There　were　lives　that　were　as　dark　as　are　the　fears　and　intuitions

Of　a　child　who　knows　himself　and　is　alone　with　what　he　knows；

There　were　pensioners　of　dreams　and　there　were　debtors　of　illusions；

All　to　fail　before　the　triumph　of　a　weed　that　only　grows。

There　were　thirsting　heirs　of　golden　sieves　that　held　not　wine　or　water；

And　had　no　names　in　traffic　or　more　value　there　than　toys：

There　were　blighted　sons　of　wonder　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

Where　they　suffered　and　still　wondered　why　their　wonder　made　no　noise。



There　were　slaves　who　dragged　the　shackles　of　a　precedent　unbroken；

Demonstrating　the　fulfilment　of　unalterable　schemes；

Which　had　been；　before　the　cradle；　Time's　inexorable　tenants

Of　what　were　now　the　dusty　ruins　of　their　father's　dreams。

There　were　these；　and　there　were　many　who　had　stumbled　up　to　manhood；

Where　they　saw　too　late　the　road　they　should　have　taken　long　ago：

There　were　thwarted　clerks　and　fiddlers　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

The　commemorative　wreckage　of　what　others　did　not　know。



And　there　were　daughters　older　than　the　mothers　who　had　borne　them；

Being　older　in　their　wisdom；　which　is　older　than　the　earth；

And　they　were　going　forward　only　farther　into　darkness；

Unrelieved　as　were　the　blasting　obligations　of　their　birth；

And　among　them；　giving　always　what　was　not　for　their　possession；

There　were　maidens；　very　quiet；　with　no　quiet　in　their　eyes：

There　were　daughters　of　the　silence　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

Each　an　isolated　item　in　the　family　sacrifice。



There　were　creepers　among　catacombs　where　dull　regrets　were　torches；

Giving　light　enough　to　show　them　what　was　there　upon　the　shelves　

Where　there　was　more　for　them　to　see　than　pleasure　would　remember

Of　something　that　had　been　alive　and　once　had　been　themselves。

There　were　some　who　stirred　the　ruins　with　a　solid　imprecation；

While　as　many　fled　repentance　for　the　promise　of　despair：

There　were　drinkers　of　wrong　waters　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

And　all　the　sparkling　ways　were　dust　that　once　had　led　them　there。



There　were　some　who　knew　the　steps　of　Age　incredibly　beside　them；

And　his　fingers　upon　shoulders　that　had　never　felt　the　wheel；

And　their　last　of　empty　trophies　was　a　gilded　cup　of　nothing；

Which　a　contemplating　vagabond　would　not　have　come　to　steal。

Long　and　often　had　they　figured　for　a　larger　valuation；

But　the　size　of　their　addition　was　the　balance　of　a　doubt：

There　were　gentlemen　of　leisure　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

Not　allured　by　retrospection；　disenchanted；　and　played　out。



And　among　the　dark　endurances　of　unavowed　reprisals

There　were　silent　eyes　of　envy　that　saw　little　but　saw　well；

And　over　beauty's　aftermath　of　hazardous　ambitions

There　were　tears　for　what　had　vanished　as　they　vanished　where　they　fell。

Not　assured　of　what　was　theirs；　and　always　hungry　for　the　nameless；

There　were　some　whose　only　passion　was　for　Time　who　made　them　cold：

There　were　numerous　fair　women　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

Dreaming　rather　less　of　heaven　than　of　hell　when　they　were　old。



Now　and　then；　as　if　to　scorn　the　common　touch　of　common　sorrow；

There　were　some　who　gave　a　few　the　distant　pity　of　a　smile；

And　another　cloaked　a　soul　as　with　an　ash　of　human　embers；

Having　covered　thus　a　treasure　that　would　last　him　for　a　while。

There　were　many　by　the　presence　of　the　many　disaffected；

Whose　exemption　was　included　in　the　weight　that　others　bore：

There　were　seekers　after　darkness　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

And　they　alone　were　there　to　find　what　they　were　looking　for。



So　they　were；　and　so　they　are；　and　as　they　came　are　coming　others；

And　among　them　are　the　fearless　and　the　meek　and　the　unborn；

And　a　question　that　has　held　us　heretofore　without　an　answer

May　abide　without　an　answer　until　all　have　ceased　to　mourn。

For　the　children　of　the　dark　are　more　to　name　than　are　the　wretched；

Or　the　broken；　or　the　weary；　or　the　baffled；　or　the　shamed：

There　are　builders　of　new　mansions　in　the　Valley　of　the　Shadow；

And　among　them　are　the　dying　and　the　blinded　and　the　maimed。









The　Wandering　Jew







I　saw　by　looking　in　his　eyes

That　they　remembered　everything；

And　this　was　how　I　came　to　know

That　he　was　here；　still　wandering。

For　though　the　figure　and　the　scene

Were　never　to　be　reconciled；

I　knew　the　man　as　I　had　known

His　image　when　I　was　a　child。



With　evidence　at　every　turn；

I　should　have　held　it　safe　to　guess

That　all　the　newness　of　New　York

Had　nothing　new　in　loneliness；

Yet　here　was　one　who　might　be　Noah；

Or　Nathan；　or　Abimelech；

Or　Lamech；　out　of　ages　lost；　

Or；　more　than　all；　Melchizedek。



Assured　that　he　was　none　of　these；

I　gave　them　back　their　names　again；

To　scan　once　more　those　endless　eyes

Where　all　my　questions　ended　then。

I　found　in　them　what　they　revealed

That　I　shall　not　live　to　forget；

And　wondered　if　they　found　in　mine

Compassion　that　I　might　regret。



Pity；　I　learned；　was　not　the　least

Of　time's　offending　benefits

That　had　now　for　so　long　impugned

The　conservation　of　his　wits：

Rather　it　was　that　I　should　yield；

Alone；　the　fealty　that　presents

The　tribute　of　a　tempered　ear

To　an　untempered　eloquence。



Before　I　pondered　long　enough

On　whence　he　came　and　who　he　was；

I　trembled　at　his　ringing　wealth

Of　manifold　anathemas；

I　wondered；　while　he　seared　the　world；

What　new　defection　ailed　the　race；

And　if　it　mattered　how　remote

Our　fathers　were　from　such　a　place。



Before　there　was　an　hour　for　me

To　contemplate　with　less　concern

The　crumbling　realm　awaiting　us

Than　his　that　was　beyond　return；

A　dawning　on　the　dust　of　years

Had　shaped　with　an　elusive　light

Mirages　of　remembered　scenes

That　were　no　longer　for　the　sight。



For　now　the　gloom　that　hid　the　man

Became　a　daylight　on　his　wrath；

And　one　wherein　my　fancy　viewed

New　lions　ramping　in　his　path。

The　old　were　dead　and　had　no　fangs；

Wherefore　he　loved　them　　seeing　not

They　were　the　same　that　in　their　time

Had　eaten　everything　they　caught。



The　world　around　him　was　a　gift

Of　anguish　to　his　eyes　and　ears；

And　one　that　he　had　long　reviled

As　fit　for　devils；　not　for　seers。

Where；　then；　was　there　a　place　for　him

That　on　this　other　side　of　death

Saw　nothing　good；　as　he　had　seen

No　good　come　out　of　Nazareth？



Yet　here　there　was　a　reticence；

And　I　believe　his　only　one；

That　hushed　him　as　if　he　beheld

A　Presence　that　would　not　be　gone。

In　such　a　silence　he　confessed

How　much　there　was　to　be　denied；

And　he　would　look　at　me　and　live；

As　others　might　have　looked　and　died。



As　if　at　last　he　knew　again

That　he　had　always　known；　his　eyes

Were　like　to　those　of　one　who　gazed

On　those　of　One　who　never　dies。

For　such　a　moment　he　revealed

What　life　has　in　it　to　be　lost；

And　I　could　ask　if　what　I　saw；

Before　me　there；　was　man　or　ghost。



He　may　have　died　so　many　times

That　all　there　was　of　him　to　see

Was　pride；　that　kept　itself　alive

As　too　rebellious　to　be　free；

He　may　have　told；　when　more　than　once

Humility　seemed　imminent；

How　many　a　lonely　time　in　vain

The　Second　Coming　came　and　went。



Whether　he　still　defies　or　not

The　failure　of　an　angry　task

That　relegates　him　out　of　time

To　chaos；　I　can　only　ask。

But　as　I　knew　him；　so　he　was；

And　somewhere　among　men　to…day

Those　old；　unyielding　eyes　may　flash；

And　flinch　　and　look　the　other　way。









Neighbors







As　often　as　we　thought　of　her；

　We　thought　of　a　gray　life

That　made　a　quaint　economist

　Of　a　wolf…haunted　wife；

We　made　the　best　of　all　she　bore

　That　was　not　ours　to　bear；

And　honored　her　for　wearing　things

　That　were　not　things　to　wear。



There　was　a　distance　in　her　look

　That　made　us　look　again；

And　if　she　smiled；　we　might　believe

　That　we　had　looked　in　vain。

Rarely　she　came　inside　our　doors；

　And　had　not　long　to　stay；

And　when　she　left；　it　seemed　somehow

　That　she　was　far　away。



At　last；　when　we　had　all　forgot

　That　all　is　here　to　change；

A　shadow　on　the　commonplace

　Was　for　a　moment　strange。

Yet　there　was　nothing　for　surprise；

　Nor　much　that　need　be　told：

Lo