〈Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen〉
I
Many ingenious lovely things are gone
That seemed sheer miracle to the
multitude,
protected from the circle of the moon
That pitches common things about. There stood
Amid the ornamental bronze and stone
An ancient image made of olive wood -
And gone are phidias' famous ivories
And all the golden grasshoppers and
bees.
We too had many pretty toys when young:
A law indifferent to blame or praise,
To bribe or threat; habits that made old
wrong
Melt down, as it were wax in the sun's
rays;
Public opinion ripening for so long
We thought it would outlive all future
days.
O what fine thought we had because we
thought
That the worst rogues and rascals had
died out.
All teeth were drawn, all ancient tricks
unlearned,
And a great army but a showy thing;
What matter that no cannon had been
turned
Into a ploughshare? Parliament and king
Thought that unless a little powder
burned
The trumpeters might burst with
trumpeting
And yet it lack all glory; and perchance
The guardsmen's drowsy chargers would
not prance.
Now days are dragon-ridden, the
nightmare
Rides upon sleep: a drunken soldiery
Can leave the mother, murdered at her
door,
To crawl in her own blood, and go
scot-free;
The night can sweat with terror as
before
We pieced our thoughts into philosophy,
And planned to bring the world under a
rule,
Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.
He who can read the signs nor sink
unmanned
Into the half-deceit of some intoxicant
From shallow wits; who knows no work can
stand,
Whether health, wealth or peace of mind
were spent
On master-work of intellect or hand,
No honour leave its mighty monument,
Has but one comfort left: all triumph would
But break upon his ghostly solitude.
But is there any comfort to be found?
Man is in love and loves what vanishes,
What more is there to say? That country
round
None dared admit, if Such a thought were
his,
Incendiary or bigot could be found
To burn that stump on the Acropolis,
Or break in bits the famous ivories
Or traffic in the grasshoppers or bees.
II
When Loie Fuller's Chinese dancers
enwound
A shining web, a floating ribbon of
cloth,
It seemed that a dragon of air
Had fallen among dancers, had whirled
them round
Or hurried them off on its own furious
path;
So the platonic Year
Whirls out new right and wrong,
Whirls in the old instead;
All men are dancers and their tread
Goes to the barbarous clangour of a
gong.
III
Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a swan;
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it,
Before that brief gleam of its life be
gone,
An image of its state;
The wings half spread for flight,
The breast thrust out in pride
Whether to play, or to ride
Those winds that clamour of approaching
night.
A man in his own secret meditation
Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has
made
In art or politics;
Some platonist affirms that in the
station
Where we should cast off body and trade
The ancient habit sticks,
And that if our works could
But vanish with our breath
That were a lucky death,
For triumph can but mar our solitude.
The swan has leaped into the desolate
heaven:
That image can bring wildness, bring a
rage
To end all things, to end
What my laborious life imagined, even
The half-imagined, the half-written
page;
O but we dreamed to mend
Whatever mischief seemed
To afflict mankind, but now
That winds of winter blow
Learn that we were crack-pated when we
dreamed.
IV
We, who seven yeats ago
Talked of honour and of truth,
Shriek with pleasure if we show
The weasel's twist, the weasel's tooth.
V
Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.
Come let us mock at the wise;
With all those calendars whereon
They fixed old aching eyes,
They never saw how seasons run,
And now but gape at the sun.
Come let us mock at the good
That fancied goodness might be gay,
And sick of solitude
Might proclaim a holiday:
Wind shrieked - and where are they?
Mock mockers after that
That would not lift a hand maybe
To help good, wise or great
To bar that foul storm out, for we
Traffic in mockery.
VI
Violence upon the roads: violence of horses;
Some few have handsome riders, are
garlanded
On delicate sensitive ear or tossing
mane,
But wearied running round and round in
their courses
All break and vanish, and evil gathers
head:
Herodias' daughters have returned again,
A sudden blast of dusty wind and after
Thunder of feet, tumult of images,
Their purpose in the labyrinth of the
wind;
And should some crazy hand dare touch a
daughter
All turn with amorous cries, or angry
cries,
According to the wind, for all are
blind.
But now wind drops, dust settles;
thereupon
There lurches past, his great eyes
without thought
Under the shadow of stupid straw-pale
locks,
That insolent fiend Robert Artisson
To whom the love-lorn Lady Kyteler
brought
Bronzed peacock feathers, red combs of
her cocks.
〈西元一千九百十九年〉（1919）
I
許多不世出的美麗精緻已經失落，
對世人那些曾經是純粹的奇蹟，
保護它不讓月亮盈虧的週期
像對付平凡東西那樣拋來拋去。
曾經，在裝飾意味的銅石器物間，
有過這麼一古老橄欖木雕之形──
俱往矣非底雅斯遐邇出名的象牙工
以及那些金蚱蜢和金蜜蜂。
我們幼時一樣保有好看的玩具；
這是定理但和貶與褒，央求與
要脅沒關係；觸犯故錯的僻性
會融化乾淨，如太陽光下的火漆；
公眾意願經長時間才成熟定型，
我們原以為它未來還會長存有準。
啊我們心地多麼善良因為我們期期
以為最壞的騙子和歹徒早已絕跡。
牙齒都拔了，老把戲忘了，
一股大軍不過虛張聲勢的節目秀；
從來沒見過野戰礮改裝成犁頭
又何妨？國會和王
都認為除非燒一點火藥否則，即使
喇叭手們逕自縱聲吹一過喇叭
這其中還是少光榮，而且可能
警衛們瞌睡的馬隊更不闊步踢騰。
而現在白日裏龍蛇橫行，惡魘
壓迫睡眠：醉酒的軍方
可能離開格殺於門首的母親
爬行過她的血泊脫身逋逃；
夜晚或許恐怖盜汗如曩息
當我們綴輯思維成哲學，
打算怎樣將這世界帶向某種體制，
鼬鼠在地洞裏打架不過如此。
凡看得懂指示牌並且不致於無能
束手沉沒於發自淺薄小聰明
麻醉劑之半欺瞞者；凡承認即使
為健康，財富，或者為智慧或手藝的
傑作而竭損其心之平衡仍屬無效，
而榮譽並未能脫離偉大的碑銘而
存在者惟餘一種安慰：勝利或僅於
他靈性的孤獨時刻偶現，如此而已。
然而還有沒有甚麼值得安慰？
人總是愛著戀愛著那消逝的一切，
還有甚麼別的可說？恐怕舉國
沒有人敢承認，即使福至心靈
原來縱火者和頑固派可能有一天
就將希臘神廟的殘餘全燒了，
或說不定把出名的象牙打碎，
或徇私買賣專營蚱蜢蜜蜂之類。
II
當婁伊‧弗勒的中國舞者縈繞
一張光燦的網那浮沉的絲緞帶子，
其時髣髴就像天空一條飛龍
如何便降臨舞者當中，依據自己
亢奮的路線驅使她們出入盤旋；
於是柏拉圖歲年
旋出嶄新的是與非，
旋入舊有那一套，反而；
人人皆舞者並且人人的步子
響應一銅鑼野蠻的鏗鏘而行。
III
某道德派或神話學派詩人
比喻孤獨的靈魂猶如一隻天鵝；
我覺得這差強人意尚可，
尚可，假如干擾的鏡面顯示了，
在它生命短暫的微明消逝之前，
顯示一契合情狀的形象；
兩翼半張預備飛翔，
胸脯鼓出作驕傲狀
也許玩玩或者騰坐到不斷
擾攘著黑夜即將來臨的風上。
陷入自己隱密沉思的人
失落在他就藝術或政治
製作出來的迷陣；
某柏拉圖學派中人斷定在某一站
當我們揚棄肉體與平生志業的
時候，老僻性無從放棄，
並且，假使我們的工作成果
有可能與鼻息一起
消滅，那死就是好死，
勝利不免傷害我們的孤獨自守。
天鵝一蹴直上冥漠的遠空：
那形象正勾起野性，勾起一種激情
將一切是非結束，結束掉
我勞累的一生所夢想的，甚至
那猶半夢想，半完成的頁葉；
啊可是我們夢想如何養護
任何災亂對人類疑似
引發的傷痛，然而此刻
冬天的風兀自吹著
知道做夢的時候我們被砸著打拍子。
IV
我們，七年前我們
談論的是榮譽與真理，
現在歡呼尖叫以展現
鼬鼠尾巴，鼬鼠的牙。
V
來讓我們嘲笑偉大的人
心中承受那麼多負擔
而且工作辛苦半夜不睡
為的是身後來一座紀念碑，
從來沒想到那摧折的風飛。
來讓我們嘲笑那睿智者
靠一些曆法日程表
他們理會陳年病眼，
從來不看季節怎樣跑，
所以現在只能對著太陽熬。
來讓我們嘲笑善良的人
居然以為善良為快樂之本，
面對孤獨自守沒興趣
寧願提譯搞一個假期：
風在尖叫──他們在那裏？
嘲笑那嘲人者，然後，
他們可能根本就不願意
施援手幫幫善良，睿智，偉大
將那討厭的風雨往外擋一擋
因為我們是以來回嘲笑擅場。
VI
暴力在路上，馬匹暴力：
有些背負倜儻的騎者，敏感的
耳在跳動的鬃毛上裝飾花環，
但來回在跑道裏繞圈子就累了
崩潰，消滅，於是邪惡集中精神：
稀羅底牙的女兒全回來了，
一陣狂風沙忽地飈起，雷霆的
腳步後面，形象大動亂，
她們的意圖吹在風的迷陣裏；
設使一隻失神的手大膽碰觸其一
所有她們輒轉身嬌叱，或怒喊，
根據風的提示，因為她們全盲。
但現在風息了，沙止了；於是
但見一雙大眼渾沌罩在愚蠢的
枯草髮綹陰影下，若有人蹣跚踱過，
蠻橫的惡鬼勞勃‧阿爾替生，
一向由無歡的基特蘿夫人供養，
