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the home book of verse-1-第47部分
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Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her;
Crying; 'Get up; little Alice! it is day。'
If you listen by that grave; in sun and shower;
With your ear down; little Alice never cries;
Could we see her face; be sure we should not know her;
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments; lulled and stilled in
The shroud by the kirk…chime。
It is good when it happens;〃 say the children;
〃That we die before our time。〃
Alas; alas; the children! they are seeking
Death in life; as best to have!
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking;
With a cerement from the grave。
Go out; children; from the mine and from the city;
Sing out; children; as the little thrushes do;
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty;
Laugh aloud; to feel your fingers let them through!
But they answer; 〃Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal…shadows;
From your pleasures fair and fine!
〃For oh;〃 say the children; 〃we are weary;
And we cannot run or leap;
If we cared for any meadows; it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep。
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping;
We fall upon our faces; trying to go;
And; underneath our heavy eyelids drooping;
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow。
For; all day; we drag our burden tiring;
Through the coal…dark; underground;
Or; all day; we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories; round and round。
〃For; all day; the wheels are droning; turning;
Their wind comes in our faces;
Till our hearts turn; our heads; with pulses burning;
And the walls turn in their places:
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling;
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall;
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling:
All are turning; all the day; and we with all。
And all day; the iron wheels are droning;
And sometimes we could pray;
'O ye wheels; (breaking out in a mad moaning)
'Stop! be silent for to…day!'〃
Ay; be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment; mouth to mouth!
Let them touch each other's hands; in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls against the notion
That they live in you; or under you; O wheels!
Still; all day; the iron wheels go onward;
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls; which God is calling sunward;
Spin on blindly in the dark。
Now tell the poor young children; O my brothers;
To look up to Him and pray;
So the blessed One; who blesseth all the others;
Will bless them another day。
They answer; 〃Who is God that He should hear us;
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud; the human creatures near us
Pass by; hearing not; or answer not a word!
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door:
Is it likely God; with angels singing round Him;
Hears our weeping any more?
〃Two words; indeed; of praying we remember;
And at midnight's hour of harm;
'Our Father;' looking upward in the chamber;
We say softly for a charm。
We know no other words except 'Our Father;'
And we think that; in some pause of angels' song;
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather;
And hold both within his right hand which is strong。
'Our Father!' If He heard us; He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer; smiling down the steep world very purely;
'Come and rest with me; my child。'
〃But no!〃 say the children; weeping faster;
〃He is speechless as a stone;
And they tell us; of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on。
Go to!〃 say the children; … 〃Up in Heaven;
Dark; wheel…like; turning clouds are all we find。
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God; but tears have made us blind。〃
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving;
O my brothers; what ye preach?
For God's possible is taught by His world's loving;
And the children doubt of each。
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run;
They have never seen the sunshine; nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun。
They know the grief of man; without its wisdom;
They sink in man's despair; without its calm;
Are slaves; without the liberty in Christdom;
Are martyrs; by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age; yet unretrievingly
The harvest of its memories cannot reap; …
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly。
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up; with their pale and sunken faces;
And their look is dread to see;
For they mind you of their angels in high places;
With eyes turned on Deity。
〃How long;〃 they say; 〃how long; O cruel nation;
Will you stand; to move the world; on a child's heart; …
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation;
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward; O gold…heaper;
And your purple shows your path;
But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath!〃
Elizabeth Barrett Browning '1806…1861'
THE SHADOW…CHILD
Why do the wheels go whirring round;
Mother; mother?
Oh; mother; are they giants bound;
And will they growl forever?
Yes; fiery giants underground;
Daughter; little daughter;
Forever turn the wheels around;
And rumble…grumble ever。
Why do I pick the threads all day;
Mother; mother?
While sunshine children are at play?
And must I work forever?
Yes; shadow…child; the live…long day;
Daughter; little daughter;
Your hands must pick the threads away;
And feel the sunshine never。
Why do the birds sing in the sun;
Mother; mother?
If all day long I run and run;
Run with the wheels forever?
The birds may sing till day is done;
Daughter; little daughter;
But with the wheels your feet must run …
Run with the wheels forever。
Why do I feel so tired each night;
Mother; mother?
The wheels are always buzzing bright;
Do they grow sleepy never?
Oh; baby thing; so soft and white;
Daughter; little daughter;
The big wheels grind us in their might;
And they will grind forever。
And is the white thread never spun;
Mother; mother?
And is the white cloth never done;
For you and me done never?
Oh; yes; our thread will all be spun;
Daughter; little daughter;
When we lie down out in the sun;
And work no more forever。
And when will come that happy day;
Mother; mother?
Oh; shall we laugh and sing and play
Out in the sun forever?
Nay; shadow…child; we'll rest all day;
Daughter; little daughter;
Where green grass grows and roses gay;
There in the sun forever。
Harriet Monroe '1860…1936'
MOTHER WEPT
Mother wept; and father sighed;
With delight aglow
Cried the lad; 〃To…morrow;〃 cried;
〃To the pit I go。〃
Up and down the place he sped; …
Greeted old and young;
Far and wide the tidings spread;
Clapt his hands and sung。
Came his cronies; some to gaze
Wrapped in wonder; some
Free with counsel; some with praise:
Some with envy dumb。
〃May he;〃 many a gossip cried;
〃Be from peril kept。〃
Father hid his face and sighed;
Mother turned and wept。
Joseph Skipsey '1832…1903'
DUTY
So nigh is grandeur to our dust;
So near is God to man;
When Duty whispers low; 〃Thou must;〃
The youth replies; 〃I can。〃
Ralph Waldo Emerson '1803…1882'
LUCY GRAY
Or Solitude
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And; when I crossed the wild;
I chanced to see; at break of day;
The solitary child。
No mate; no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor;
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play;
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen。
〃To…night will be a stormy night; …
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern; Child; to light
Your mother through the snow。〃
〃That; Father; will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon; …
The minster…clock has just struck two;
And yonder is the moon!〃
At this the Father raised his hook;
And snapped a fagot…brand。
He plied his work; … and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand。
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow;
That rises up like smoke。
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down:
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town。
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide。
At daybreak on the hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood;
A furlong from their door。
They wept; … and; turning homeward; cried;
〃In heaven we all shall meet;〃
When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet。
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small:
And through the broken hawthorn…hedge;
And by the low stone…wall;
And then an open field they crossed …
The marks were still the same …
They tracked them on; nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came。
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks; one by one;
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
… Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild。
O'er rough and smooth she trips along;
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind。
William Wordsworth '1770…1850'
IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL
Emmie
Our doctor had called in another; I ne
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