优美诗歌阅读:Pickthorn Manor

2017-03-19

下面是小编为大家带来艾米·洛威尔的经典诗歌:Pickthorn Manor,希望大家喜欢!

I

How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A

steely silver, underlined with blue,

And flashing where the round clouds, blown away, Letdrop the

yellow sunshine to gleam through

And tip the edges of the waves with shifts And spots ofwhitest

fire, hard like gems

Cut from the midnight moon they were, and sharp As

wind through leafless stems.

The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts

Of blooming cherry-trees, and watched the rifts

Of clouds drawn through the river's azure warp.

II

Her little feet tapped softly down the path. Her

soul was listless; even the morning breeze

Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath Of fallen petals

on the grass, could please

Her not at all. She brushed a hair aside With a

swift move, and a half-angry frown.

She stopped to pull a daffodil or two, And

held them to her gown

To test the colours; put them at her side,

Then at her breast, then loosened them and tried

Some new arrangement, but it would not do.

III

A lady in a Manor-house, alone, Whose husband

is in Flanders with the Duke

Of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, she's grown Too apathetic

even to rebuke

Her idleness. What is she on this Earth? No woman

surely, since she neither can

Be wed nor single, must not let her mind Build

thoughts upon a man

Except for hers. Indeed that were no dearth

Were her Lord here, for well she knew his worth,

And when she thought of him her eyes were kind.

IV

Too lately wed to have forgot the wooing. Too

unaccustomed as a bride to feel

Other than strange delight at her wife's doing. Even at the

thought a gentle blush would steal

Over her face, and then her lips would frame Some little word

of loving, and her eyes

Would brim and spill their tears, when all they

saw Was the bright sun, slantwise

Through burgeoning trees, and all the morning's flame

Burning and quivering round her. With quick shame

She shut her heart and bent before the law.

V

He was a soldier, she was proud of that. This

was his house and she would keep it well.

His honour was in fighting, hers in what He'd left her here

in charge of. Then a spell

Of conscience sent her through the orchard spying Upon the

gardeners. Were their tools about?

Were any branches broken? Had the

weeds Been duly taken out

Under the 'spaliered pears, and were these lying

Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying

Their leaves and satisfying all their needs?

VI

She picked a stone up with a little pout, Stones

looked so ill in well-kept flower-borders.

Where should she put it? All the paths about Were

strewn with fair, red gravel by her orders.

No stone could mar their sifted smoothness. So She

hurried to the river. At the edge

She stood a moment charmed by the swift blue Beyond

the river sedge.

She watched it curdling, crinkling, and the snow

Purfled upon its wave-tops. Then, "Hullo,

My Beauty, gently, or you'll wriggle through."

VII

The Lady Eunice caught a willow spray To save

herself from tumbling in the shallows

Which rippled to her feet. Then straight away She

peered down stream among the budding sallows.

A youth in leather breeches and a shirt Of finest broidered

lawn lay out upon

An overhanging bole and deftly swayed A

well-hooked fish which shone

In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt

Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt

With crimson spots and moons which waned and

played.

VIII

The fish hung circled for a moment, ringed And

bright; then flung itself out, a thin blade

Of spotted lightning, and its tail was winged With chipped

and sparkled sunshine. And the shade

Broke up and splintered into shafts of light Wheeling about

the fish, who churned the air

And made the fish-line hum, and bent the rod Almost

to snapping. Care

The young man took against the twigs, with slight,

Deft movements he kept fish and line in tight

Obedience to his will with every prod.

IX

He lay there, and the fish hung just beyond. He

seemed uncertain what more he should do.

He drew back, pulled the rod to correspond, Tossed it and caught

it; every time he threw,

He caught it nearer to the point. At last The fish

was near enough to touch. He paused.

Eunice knew well the craft -- "What's

got the thing!" She cried. "What can have caused

--

Where is his net? The moment will be past.

The fish will wriggle free." She stopped aghast.

He turned and bowed. One arm was in

a sling.

X

The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket Must

hang from, held instead a useless arm.

"I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it." He smiled, for she

had spoke aloud. "The charm

Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced When you must play

your fish on land as well."

"How will you take him?" Eunice asked. "In

truth I really cannot tell.

'Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced

I never thought of that until he glanced

Into the branches. 'Tis a bit uncouth."

XI

He watched the fish against the blowing sky, Writhing

and glittering, pulling at the line.

"The hook is fast, I might just let him die," He mused. "But

that would jar against your fine

Sense of true sportsmanship, I know it would," Cried Eunice. "Let

me do it." Swift and light

She ran towards him. "It is so long

now Since I have felt a bite,

I lost all heart for everything." She stood,

Supple and strong, beside him, and her blood

Tingled her lissom body to a glow.

XII

She quickly seized the fish and with a stone Ended

its flurry, then removed the hook,

Untied the fly with well-poised fingers. Done, She

asked him where he kept his fishing-book.

He pointed to a coat flung on the ground. She searched the

pockets, found a shagreen case,

Replaced the fly, noticed a golden stamp Filling

the middle space.

Two letters half rubbed out were there, and round

About them gay rococo flowers wound

And tossed a spray of roses to the clamp.

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