You are here
قراءة كتاب Sweet Hours
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
anguish,
But blows the clouds away, laughs at the sun,
And falls into unconscious, dreamless sleep.
UNDER THE SNOW
IF green the corn and burning the volcano,
Though snowclad, buried under rocks of ice,
Why shall the heart not love and burn in waving
Expectant green, or rising flames of hot
Enthusiasm, or burst into a torrent
Of wrath, though snow the summit long hath crowned?
Behold! The field is green, the seed has risen
That thou hast thrown into these aching furrows,
Once ploughed by Destiny, and sown with sorrow
And watered with the wells of tears, that dropped
Upon each grain and flowed through all the furrows.
They see the snow upon thine head, but not
The corn and not the threat'ning furnace of
Thy soul. They think it is extinct, they hope
Thou hast forgotten, that the gentle warmth
They feel is sunshine, not the stormy fire,
That cannot cease to burn: for it remembers.
Though snowclad, buried under rocks of ice,
Why shall the heart not love and burn in waving
Expectant green, or rising flames of hot
Enthusiasm, or burst into a torrent
Of wrath, though snow the summit long hath crowned?
Behold! The field is green, the seed has risen
That thou hast thrown into these aching furrows,
Once ploughed by Destiny, and sown with sorrow
And watered with the wells of tears, that dropped
Upon each grain and flowed through all the furrows.
They see the snow upon thine head, but not
The corn and not the threat'ning furnace of
Thy soul. They think it is extinct, they hope
Thou hast forgotten, that the gentle warmth
They feel is sunshine, not the stormy fire,
That cannot cease to burn: for it remembers.
SOLITUDE
THE greatest friend, the friend that dwells with thee,
When the wild turmoil of the world is thrust
Aside, when e'en thy smile may rest, that shield,
That weapon, armour, gauntlet, laid aside,
Will leave thy soul to sculpt thy features with
Her own deep chisel; when before thyself
Thou standest, as before thy judge and master,
An outcry goeth forth from thee towards
Thyself, then will great solitude enfold
Thee, and her wings will hush the tempest.
Fear not that angel's gravity, the look
His searching eye will plunge into thy heart.
Fear not the whisp'ring of his lips: Remember!
For ev'ry word of thine, each working of
Thy soul is booked, indelible the writing,
It is encircled in the movement of
The worlds and has its history. Thy soul,
Itself a world, belongs to Solitude. It is
So lonely that no crowd of friends, nor e'en
One friend can take its loneliness away.
There is but Solitude that can surround
Thy soul with beings and thy heart with sight.
It opens wide the floodgates of thy thought,
And what the world repressed, hemmed in and stifled,
Will rush like living waters through thy brain
And sweep away the nothingness of things.
Great Solitude will let thee listen. Hark!
The voices of the Infinite are singing,
The thoughts of thousands who have thought before thee
Come crowding round thy brain and fill the air,
And seek a new expression on thy lips.
Thou art in such ennobling company,
That Solitude becomes the gorgeous feast,
For which thy soul is clothed in white and purple,
Thy feet unshod tread on the holy ground
Where God has spoken. Hark! Great Solitude
Hath thousand voices and a flood of light,
Be not afraid, enter the Sanctuary,
Thou wilt be taken by the hand and led
To Life's own fountain, never-ending Thought!
When the wild turmoil of the world is thrust
Aside, when e'en thy smile may rest, that shield,
That weapon, armour, gauntlet, laid aside,
Will leave thy soul to sculpt thy features with
Her own deep chisel; when before thyself
Thou standest, as before thy judge and master,
An outcry goeth forth from thee towards
Thyself, then will great solitude enfold
Thee, and her wings will hush the tempest.
Fear not that angel's gravity, the look
His searching eye will plunge into thy heart.
Fear not the whisp'ring of his lips: Remember!
For ev'ry word of thine, each working of
Thy soul is booked, indelible the writing,
It is encircled in the movement of
The worlds and has its history. Thy soul,
Itself a world, belongs to Solitude. It is
So lonely that no crowd of friends, nor e'en
One friend can take its loneliness away.
There is but Solitude that can surround
Thy soul with beings and thy heart with sight.
It opens wide the floodgates of thy thought,
And what the world repressed, hemmed in and stifled,
Will rush like living waters through thy brain
And sweep away the nothingness of things.
Great Solitude will let thee listen. Hark!
The voices of the Infinite are singing,
The thoughts of thousands who have thought before thee
Come crowding round thy brain and fill the air,
And seek a new expression on thy lips.
Thou art in such ennobling company,
That Solitude becomes the gorgeous feast,
For which thy soul is clothed in white and purple,
Thy feet unshod tread on the holy ground
Where God has spoken. Hark! Great Solitude
Hath thousand voices and a flood of light,
Be not afraid, enter the Sanctuary,
Thou wilt be taken by the hand and led
To Life's own fountain, never-ending Thought!
THE GNAT
A LONG-LEGGED gnat with airy wings, a dart
Sharp as a needle and a searching tusk,
Was flutt'ring round my lamp, clung to my book-shelf,
And wandered over papers. Then I blew
On it, to chase it far away. But no,
Beneath the tempest of my breath it clung
Still faster to the paper's slender shelter
And moved not, till I thought my breath had killed it.
We watched each other; then it flew away.
I thought how Fate and we thus ofttimes watch
Each other, till Fate blow us into atoms,
And we remain in some weak place, in Death's
Suspense, not knowing if again the storm
Will blow. But Fate is careless and will let
Us go, if but the wings that are to take
Us hence are still untorn, unsinged, uncrushed;
Or else we creep along and die unseen,
A wingless worm, not understanding what
Those papers and those shelves contain that are
No revelation, nought but a grave, whilst others
Suck life and food, from where the storm of Fate
Hath torn us, unresisting, meaningless,
And watching with an instant's careless glance,
If we are really dead, or still may fly.
Cheat cruel Fate, keep still like death, move not,
Flutter not; then unfold thy wings, and go
Thy way, the coming morn is full of life,
Bury thy head in flowers, in the dew,
The sun is rising and thou art alive!
Sharp as a needle and a searching tusk,
Was flutt'ring round my lamp, clung to my book-shelf,
And wandered over papers. Then I blew
On it, to chase it far away. But no,
Beneath the tempest of my breath it clung
Still faster to the paper's slender shelter
And moved not, till I thought my breath had killed it.
We watched each other; then it flew away.
I thought how Fate and we thus ofttimes watch
Each other, till Fate blow us into atoms,
And we remain in some weak place, in Death's
Suspense, not knowing if again the storm
Will blow. But Fate is careless and will let
Us go, if but the wings that are to take
Us hence are still untorn, unsinged, uncrushed;
Or else we creep along and die unseen,
A wingless worm, not understanding what
Those papers and those shelves contain that are
No revelation, nought but a grave, whilst others
Suck life and food, from where the storm of Fate
Hath torn us, unresisting, meaningless,
And watching with an instant's careless glance,
If we are really dead, or still may fly.
Cheat cruel Fate, keep still like death, move not,
Flutter not; then unfold thy wings, and go
Thy way, the coming morn is full of life,
Bury thy head in flowers, in the dew,
The sun is rising and thou art alive!