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The Wanderings of Oisin-YEATS

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IP属地:法国1楼2015-01-26 23:35回复
    W. B. Yeats
    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
    "Yeats" redirects here. For other uses, see Yeats (disambiguation).
    William Butler Yeats photographed in 1903 by Alice Boughton
    William Butler Yeats (/ˈjeɪts/; 13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, in his later years he served as an Irish Senator for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival and, along with Lady Gregory, Edward Martyn, and others, founded the Abbey Theatre, where he served as its chief during its early years. In 1923 he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature as the first Irishman so honoured[1] for what the Nobel Committee described as "inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation." Yeats is generally considered one of the few writers who completed their greatest works after being awarded the Nobel Prize; such works include The Tower (1928) and The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1929).[2] Yeats was a very good friend of American expatriate poet and Bollingen Prize laureate Ezra Pound. Yeats wrote the introduction for Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali, which was published by the India Society.[3]
    He was born in Dublin and educated there and in London; he spent his childhood holidays in County Sligo. He studied poetry in his youth and from an early age was fascinated by both Irish legends and the occult. Those topics feature in the first phase of his work, which lasted roughly until the turn of the 20th century. His earliest volume of verse was published in 1889, and its slow-paced and lyrical poems display Yeats' debts to Edmund Spenser, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and the poets of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. From 1900, Yeats's poetry grew more physical and realistic. He largely renounced the transcendental beliefs of his youth, though he remained preoccupied with physical and spiritual masks, as well as with cyclical theories of life.


    IP属地:法国2楼2015-01-26 23:38
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      <when you are old>
      When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
      And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
      And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
      Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
      How many loved your moments of glad grace,
      And loved your beauty with love false or true,
      But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
      And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
      And bending down beside the glowing bars,
      Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
      And paced upon the mountains overhead
      And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
      --W. B. Yeats
      当年华已逝,你两鬓斑白,沉沉欲睡,
        坐在炉边慢慢打盹,请取下我的这本诗集,
        请缓缓读起,如梦一般,你会重温,
        你那脉脉眼波,她们是曾经那么的深情和柔美。
      多少人曾爱过你容光焕发的楚楚魅力,
        爱你的倾城容颜,或是真心,或是做戏,
        但只有一个人,他爱的是你圣洁虔诚的心。
        当你洗尽铅华,伤逝红颜的老去,他也依然深爱着你。
      炉里的火焰温暖明亮,你轻轻低下头去,
        带着淡淡的凄然,为了枯萎熄灭的爱情,喃喃低语,
        此时他正在千山万壑之间独自游荡,
        在那满天凝视你的繁星后面隐起了脸庞。


      IP属地:法国3楼2015-01-26 23:43
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        A Memory of Youth
        W.B.Yeats
        The moments passed as at a play;
        I had the wisdom love brings forth;
        I had my share of mother-wit,
        And yet for all that I could say,
        And though I had her praise for it,
        A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
        Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
        Believing every word I said,
        I praised her body and her mind
        Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
        And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
        And vanity her footfall light,
        Yet we, for all that praise, could find
        Nothing but darkness overhead.


        IP属地:法国5楼2015-02-02 17:33
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          A Dearm of Death
          W.B Yeats
          I dreamed that one had died in a strange place
          Near no accustomed hand
          And they had nailed the boards above her face,
          The peasants of that land,
          Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
          And raised above her mound
          A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
          And planted eypress round;
          And left her to the indifferent stars above
          Until I carved these words:
          She was more beautiful than thy first love,
          But now lies under boards
          梦 死
          我梦见一个人在陌生的地方死去,
          身边无亲无故
          他们钉了些木板将她的脸遮盖,
          那块土地上的农民,
          满怀诧异地将她安置在荒郊野岭,
          并在她坟顶竖起
          用两根木头交叉而成的十字架,
          四周栽满柏树,
          将她留给天上那无动于衷的星星,
          直到我刻下这些话:
          她曾经比你的初恋还要美丽,
          但现在却长眠于木板之下。


          IP属地:法国6楼2015-02-02 17:34
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            Brown Penny
            William Butler Yeats
            I whispered, 'I am too young,'
            And then, 'I am old enough';
            Wherefore I threw a penny
            To find out if I might love.
            'Go and love, go and love, young man,
            If the lady be young and fair.'
            Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
            I am looped in the loops of her hair.
            O love is the crooked thing,
            There is nobody wise enough
            To find out all that is in it,
            For he would be thinking of love
            Till the stars had run away
            And the shadows eaten the moon.
            Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
            One cannot begin it too soon.


            IP属地:法国7楼2015-02-02 17:35
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              Memory
              One had a lovely face,
                And two or three had charm,
                But charm and face were in vain
                Because the mountain grass
                Cannot but keep the form
                Where the mountain hare has lain


              IP属地:法国8楼2015-02-02 17:35
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                `Lonely the seabird lies at her rest'
                Lonely the seabird lies at her rest,
                Blown like a down-blenched parcel of spray
                Upon the wind, or follows her prey
                Under a great wave's hollowing crest.
                God has not appeared to the birds.
                The ger-eagle has chosen his part
                In blue-deep of the upper air
                Where one-eyed day can meet his stare;
                He is content with his savage heart.
                God has not appeared to the birds.
                But where have last year's cygnets gone?
                The lake is empty: why do they fling
                White wing out beside white wing?
                What can a swan need but a swan?
                God has not appeared to the birds.


                IP属地:法国9楼2015-02-02 17:36
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                  Two Years Later
                     -- by W.B Yeats
                    HAS no one said those daring
                    Kind eyes should be more learn'd?
                    Or warned you how despairing
                    The moths are when they are burned?
                    I could have warned you; but you are young,
                  So we speak a different tongue.
                    O you will take whatever's offered
                    And dream that all the world's a friend,
                    Suffer as your mother suffered,
                    Be as broken in the end.
                    But I am old and you are young,
                    And I speak a barbarous tongue.
                  两年以后
                     --叶芝
                  莫非没人说过,那些勇敢
                     而善良的眼睛应该更加见多识广?
                     或曾告戒你,那些
                     火焰中的飞蛾是如何绝望?
                     我本可以告戒你,可你依然年轻,
                     因而我们说着不同的语言.
                  噢,你会得到供奉的一切,
                     梦想全世界都是朋友,
                     像你母亲一样遭遇坎坷,
                     到最后也心衰力竭.
                     我已衰老,你却依然年轻,
                     我还满口粗俗鄙陋的语言.
                    


                  IP属地:法国10楼2015-02-02 17:37
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                    The Stolen Child
                    By William Butler Yeats 1886,1889
                    Where dips the rocky highland
                    Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
                    There lies a leaafy island
                    Where flapping herons wake
                    The we've hid our faery vats,
                    Full of berries
                    And od reddest stolen cherries.
                    Come away, O human child!
                    To the water and the wild
                    With a faery, hand in hand
                    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
                    Where the wave of moonlight glosses
                    The dim grey sands with light
                    Far off by furthest Rosses
                    We Foot it all the night,
                    Weavingg olden dances,
                    Mingling hands and mingling glances
                    Till the moon has taken flight
                    To and fro we leap
                    And chase the frothy bubbles,
                    While the world is full of troubles
                    And is anxious in its sleep.
                    Come away, O human child!
                    To the water and the wild
                    With a faery, hand in hand
                    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
                    Wherer the wandering water gushes
                    From the hills above Glen-Car
                    In pools among the rushes
                    That scarce could bathe aa star,
                    We seek for slumbering trout
                    And whispering in their ears
                    Give them unquiet dreams
                    Learning softly out
                    From ferns that drop their tears
                    Over the young streams.
                    Come away, O human child!
                    To the waters and the wild
                    With a faery, hand in hand,
                    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
                    Away with us he's going,
                    The solemn-eyed
                    He'll hear no more the lowing
                    Of the calves on the warm hillside
                    Of the kettle on the hob
                    Sing peace into his breast,
                    Or see the brown mice bob
                    Round and round the oatmeal-chest
                    For he comes, the human child,
                    To the waters and the wild
                    With a faery, hand in hand
                    From a world more full of weeping than he understand.


                    IP属地:法国11楼2015-02-02 17:38
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                      The Young Man's Song
                      by W. B. Yeats
                      I whispered, "I am too young,"
                      And then, "I am old enough";
                      Wherefore I threw a penny
                      To find out if I might love.
                      "Go and love, go and love, young man,
                      If the lady be young and fair,"
                      Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
                      I am looped in the loops of her hair.
                      Oh, love is the crooked thing,
                      There is nobody wise enough
                      To find out all that is in it,
                      For he would be thinking of love
                      Till the stars had run away,
                      And the shadows eaten the moon.
                      Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
                      One cannot begin it too soon.


                      IP属地:法国12楼2015-02-02 17:39
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