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قراءة كتاب Look! We Have Come Through!

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‏اللغة: English
Look! We Have Come Through!

Look! We Have Come Through!

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 6

child begot?
Our consummation matters, or does it not?

To me it seems the seed is just left over
From the red rose-flowers' fiery transience;
Just orts and slarts; berries that smoulder in the
   bush
Which burnt just now with marvellous immanence.

Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose
Of roses unchidden and purposeless; a rose
For rosiness only, without an ulterior motive;
For me it is more than enough if the flower un-
   close.

A YOUTH MOWING

THERE are four men mowing down by the Isar;
I can hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four
Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I
Am sorry for what's in store.

The first man out of the four that's mowing
Is mine, I claim him once and for all;
Though it's sorry I am, on his young feet, knowing
None of the trouble he's led to stall.

As he sees me bringing the dinner, he lifts
His head as proud as a deer that looks
Shoulder-deep out of the corn; and wipes
His scythe-blade bright, unhooks

The scythe-stone and over the stubble to me.
Lad, thou hast gotten a child in me,
Laddie, a man thou'lt ha'e to be,
Yea, though I'm sorry for thee.

QUITE FORSAKEN

WHAT pain, to wake and miss you!
  To wake with a tightened heart,
And mouth reaching forward to kiss you!

This then at last is the dawn, and the bell
  Clanging at the farm! Such bewilderment
Comes with the sight of the room, I cannot tell.

It is raining. Down the half-obscure road
  Four labourers pass with their scythes
Dejectedly;—a huntsman goes by with his load:

A gun, and a bunched-up deer, its four little feet
  Clustered dead.—And this is the dawn
For which I wanted the night to retreat!

FORSAKEN AND FORLORN

THE house is silent, it is late at night, I am alone.
               From the balcony
          I can hear the Isar moan,
               Can see the white
Rift of the river eerily, between the pines, under
          a sky of stone.

Some fireflies drift through the middle air
               Tinily.
          I wonder where
Ends this darkness that annihilates me.

FIREFLIES IN THE CORN

She speaks.
Look at the little darlings in the corn!
   The rye is taller than you, who think yourself
So high and mighty: look how the heads are
     borne
Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of
     knights
Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.

Knights indeed!—much knight I know will ride
   With his head held high-serene against the sky!
Limping and following rather at my side
   Moaning for me to love him!—Oh darling rye
How I adore you for your simple pride!

And the dear, dear fireflies wafting in between
   And over the swaying corn-stalks, just above
All the dark-feathered helmets, like little green
   Stars come low and wandering here for love
Of these dark knights, shedding their delicate
     sheen!

I thank you I do, you happy creatures, you dears
   Riding the air, and carrying all the time
Your little lanterns behind you! Ah, it cheers
   My soul to see you settling and trying to
     climb
The corn-stalks, tipping with fire the spears.

All over the dim corn's motion, against the blue
   Dark sky of night, a wandering glitter, a
     swarm
Of questing brilliant souls going out with their
     true
   Proud knights to battle! Sweet, how I warm
My poor, my perished soul with the sight of
     you!

A DOE AT EVENING

As I went through the marshes a doe sprang out of the corn and flashed up the hill-side leaving her fawn.

On the sky-line she moved round to watch, she pricked a fine black blotch on the sky.

I looked at her
and felt her watching;
I became a strange being.
Still, I had my right to be there with her,

Her nimble shadow trotting along the sky-line, she put back her fine, level-balanced head. And I knew her.

Ah yes, being male, is not my head hard-balanced,
    antlered?
Are not my haunches light?
Has she not fled on the same wind with me?
Does not my fear cover her fear?

IRSCHENHAUSEN

SONG OF A MAN WHO IS NOT LOVED

THE space of the world is immense, before me and
   around me;
If I turn quickly, I am terrified, feeling space
   surround me;
Like a man in a boat on very clear, deep water,
   space frightens and confounds me.

I see myself isolated in the universe, and wonder
What effect I can have. My hands wave under
The heavens like specks of dust that are floating
   asunder.

I hold myself up, and feel a big wind blowing
Me like a gadfly into the dusk, without my know-
   ing
Whither or why or even how I am going.

So much there is outside me, so infinitely
Small am I, what matter if minutely
I beat my way, to be lost immediately?

How shall I flatter myself that I can do
Anything in such immensity? I am too
Little to count in the wind that drifts me through.

GLASHÜTTE

SINNERS

THE big mountains sit still in the afternoon light
   Shadows in their lap;
The bees roll round in the wild-thyme with de-
     light.

We sitting here among the cranberries
   So still in the gap
Of rock, distilling our memories

Are sinners! Strange! The bee that blunders
   Against me goes off with a laugh.
A squirrel cocks his head on the fence, and
     wonders

What about sin?—For, it seems
   The mountains have
No shadow of us on their snowy forehead of
     dreams

As they ought to have. They rise above us
   Dreaming
For ever. One even might think that they love us.

  Little red cranberries cheek to cheek,
   Two great dragon-flies wrestling;
   You, with your forehead nestling
   Against me, and bright peak shining to peak—

There's a love-song for you!—Ah, if only
   There were no teeming
Swarms of mankind in the world, and we were
     less lonely!

MAYRHOFEN

MISERY

OUT of this oubliette between the mountains five valleys go, five passes like gates; three of them black in shadow, two of them bright with distant sunshine; and sunshine fills one high valley bed, green grass shining, and little white houses like quartz crystals, little, but distinct a way off.

Why

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