قراءة كتاب Sweet Hours
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
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AND did they say that rest was not so sweet,
Old age a sadness, no repose at all?
Then have they quite forgotten. They remember
No more the heartbreak of their early youth,
The battle fought for life, the angry clouds
That hid the sun, till he would shine no more,
The anguish of their nights, that made their bed
A furnace and a rack. They say: 'Twas but
A nightmare! And they smile, and yet that smile
Is sadder than a frown, much sadder than
A tear, as it is hopeless. For a tear
Has a bright spot, wherein the sun may sparkle.
That smile is sunless, be it e'er so sweet.
And know ye not how wildly ye have called
On Death, and tried to catch him by the wing,
Or let yourself be trodden under foot
By him? And wrung your hands in agony,
When he had passed you by. Ye dare not tell
Your heart what it has suffered, dare not look
Into the past again, for fear of turning
To stone, for whitelipp'd fear of waking from
Its sleep that heart to make it throb again,
Like millstones. You remember! Ah! You see!
You even try to do away with pity,
For fear of being tortured yet again,
And shaken yet again, and no more able
To quiet that unruly heart, that learnt
To fear. Oh! Have ye never known what fear
Can make of you? The wandering of your clock,
That hammers nails into your brain and hands,
The coming of the dawn, that cruel dawn,
With icy, deathlike eyes and hollow voice,
Announcing mercilessly that the day
Hath come? And were you not afraid, when night
Set in again, with redhot eyeballs, with
The lonely wringing of your soul between
Her hands, like linen, that she washed in tears,
In blood, in rivers of despair? Oh, see!
Here comes with gentle wing and loving eye
Sweet Rest, and lays her mantle round your shoulders,
And bids you fear no more, but listen to
The birds' first Alleluia to the morn,
That dances o'er the dew, up to the dawn,
And be it e'er so cold, so lifeless, like
The last of all the dawn they sang to. Fear
Is banished, anguish quenched in all the waters
That grief has steeped you in. You know that ne'er
Another day can be so dark again,
As Rest forbids the cruel dawn to break
With threat'ning eyes, as Rest shuts out the night,
And leaves thee lonely not, but fills thy sight
With loving faces at the gates of heaven.
Sweet Rest is round thee, like an autumn sun,
And sheds thy rays upon the striving young ones.
Ye long for bed again, like little children;
No longer doth the pillow seem on fire,
Your couch a bed of coals. The weary head
Is cool, the limbs lie still, and thought comes gently
Like a nurse's well-known ditty, that will lull
To sleep thee with its sameness. Rest hath come
At last, and looks into thy room, into
Thy heart, and sends forgetfulness, like balm,
Like a flower's perfume through thy silent chamber.
The clock is peaceful with its quiet beat,
And night and morn are one; they bring no struggle.
Sweet Rest hath come, great, wingèd, heaven-born,
To lead thee to thy home with angels' hands.
Old age a sadness, no repose at all?
Then have they quite forgotten. They remember
No more the heartbreak of their early youth,
The battle fought for life, the angry clouds
That hid the sun, till he would shine no more,
The anguish of their nights, that made their bed
A furnace and a rack. They say: 'Twas but
A nightmare! And they smile, and yet that smile
Is sadder than a frown, much sadder than
A tear, as it is hopeless. For a tear
Has a bright spot, wherein the sun may sparkle.
That smile is sunless, be it e'er so sweet.
And know ye not how wildly ye have called
On Death, and tried to catch him by the wing,
Or let yourself be trodden under foot
By him? And wrung your hands in agony,
When he had passed you by. Ye dare not tell
Your heart what it has suffered, dare not look
Into the past again, for fear of turning
To stone, for whitelipp'd fear of waking from
Its sleep that heart to make it throb again,
Like millstones. You remember! Ah! You see!
You even try to do away with pity,
For fear of being tortured yet again,
And shaken yet again, and no more able
To quiet that unruly heart, that learnt
To fear. Oh! Have ye never known what fear
Can make of you? The wandering of your clock,
That hammers nails into your brain and hands,
The coming of the dawn, that cruel dawn,
With icy, deathlike eyes and hollow voice,
Announcing mercilessly that the day
Hath come? And were you not afraid, when night
Set in again, with redhot eyeballs, with
The lonely wringing of your soul between
Her hands, like linen, that she washed in tears,
In blood, in rivers of despair? Oh, see!
Here comes with gentle wing and loving eye
Sweet Rest, and lays her mantle round your shoulders,
And bids you fear no more, but listen to
The birds' first Alleluia to the morn,
That dances o'er the dew, up to the dawn,
And be it e'er so cold, so lifeless, like
The last of all the dawn they sang to. Fear
Is banished, anguish quenched in all the waters
That grief has steeped you in. You know that ne'er
Another day can be so dark again,
As Rest forbids the cruel dawn to break
With threat'ning eyes, as Rest shuts out the night,
And leaves thee lonely not, but fills thy sight
With loving faces at the gates of heaven.
Sweet Rest is round thee, like an autumn sun,
And sheds thy rays upon the striving young ones.
Ye long for bed again, like little children;
No longer doth the pillow seem on fire,
Your couch a bed of coals. The weary head
Is cool, the limbs lie still, and thought comes gently
Like a nurse's well-known ditty, that will lull
To sleep thee with its sameness. Rest hath come
At last, and looks into thy room, into
Thy heart, and sends forgetfulness, like balm,
Like a flower's perfume through thy silent chamber.
The clock is peaceful with its quiet beat,
And night and morn are one; they bring no struggle.
Sweet Rest hath come, great, wingèd, heaven-born,
To lead thee to thy home with angels' hands.
THE SHADOW
THE shadow of your threshold is so full
Of meaning, that the stranger knows what home
Is yours, if peace dwell here, or strife, or restless
Unsatisfied ambition. As the tree's
Deep shadow meaneth rest and comfort, or
Is poison, sleep eternal, such the house
That is a home's sweet shadow or a dark
Abode of sin, of lurking lie and danger.
The shadow of your life, that is so small
In bright midday and summer's burning sun,
Begins to lengthen when your evening comes,
And shows the beauty of the tree in outline,
Its graceful forms, its harmony and power;
And never did its beauty strike before,
As now, when lost in thought, you contemplate
The shadow on the lawn. The golden rays
That flood it, make it higher, nobler, and
Its shadow ever greater, till the night
Calls forth the moon, to make it deep and weird
As if unspoken pain had darkened it,
As if the silvery paleness of the moon
Sharpened its features into hardness almost.
Behold the shadow of thy life! Look well if
It be a threshold that reveals the strong
Unbending will, the height of all your aims,
Your passions' darkness, and the harmony
Of all the branches that were put into
Your care! Look at the shadow when your day
Is done, and winter's moon will draw its line
In naked truth, without the flattering leaves
Upon your windingsheet's unruffled snow.
Of meaning, that the stranger knows what home
Is yours, if peace dwell here, or strife, or restless
Unsatisfied ambition. As the tree's
Deep shadow meaneth rest and comfort, or
Is poison, sleep eternal, such the house
That is a home's sweet shadow or a dark
Abode of sin, of lurking lie and danger.
The shadow of your life, that is so small
In bright midday and summer's burning sun,
Begins to lengthen when your evening comes,
And shows the beauty of the tree in outline,
Its graceful forms, its harmony and power;
And never did its beauty strike before,
As now, when lost in thought, you contemplate
The shadow on the lawn. The golden rays
That flood it, make it higher, nobler, and
Its shadow ever greater, till the night
Calls forth the moon, to make it deep and weird
As if unspoken pain had darkened it,
As if the silvery paleness of the moon
Sharpened its features into hardness almost.
Behold the shadow of thy life! Look well if
It be a threshold that reveals the strong
Unbending will, the height of all your aims,
Your passions' darkness, and the harmony
Of all the branches that were put into
Your care! Look at the shadow when your day
Is done, and winter's moon will draw its line
In naked truth, without the flattering leaves
Upon your windingsheet's unruffled snow.