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²ï¤h¤ñ¨È (William Shakespeare¡A1564-1616)   
¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä 18 ­º      ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä 71 ­º      ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä 73 ­º      ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä 129 ­º
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    ¯üÄR¨Èªº¨ÅÀY     ·sÂAªº¨Å¹T©MÂA¥¤ªo     ¦oªºÂù¨¬     ¦oªº»L
°¨«Âº¸ (Andrew Marvell¡A1621-1678)  ­P²Û©Äªº±¡¤H
µá²ú´¶µ· (Katherine Philips¡A1631-1664)
­P§Ú¨ô¶VªºÅS¥d¦è¨È¡A½Í§Ú­Ìªº¤Í½Ë    §OÂ÷´Á¶¡­P M.A.¤Ò¤H
¤B¥§¥Í (Alfred Lord Tennyson¡A1809-1892)
µM«á²`¬õªºªáäºÎµÛ¤F     ¦b±F¯S·ç¯÷¤s¨¦
¨f½@»^ (Emily Dickinson¡A1830-1886)
¤ß°Ú¡A§Ú­Ì­n§Ñ¤F¥L      ÆF»î¿ï¾Ü¦Û¤vªº¦ñ«Q      ·R±¡¡X¡X§A«Ü°ª
·R±¡¨ü¨ì¥´À»¤F      ¥¢¥h§A      
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¥q°¨¯S (Christopher Smart¡A1722-1771 ¬°¨­§÷µu¤p¦V¬Y¤k¤hÅG¥Õ
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(W. B. Yeats¡A1865-1939)
·í§A¦~¦Ñ     ¥L·Q­n¤Ñ°êªºº÷½v      °sºq      ¬¡¥Í¥Íªº¬ü      ¦b·¨¬h¶é¯`
¥v¸¦¤å´µ (Wallace Stevens¡A1879-1955  ¤º¤ß±¡¤Hªº³Ì«á¿W¥Õ
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¡@


µL¦W¤ó¡]Anonymous¡^

April is in my mistress¡¦ face
 Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Morley¦±

April is in my mistress¡¦ face,
And July in her eyes hath place,
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.


*
 

Madrigal 

My Love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her;
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on:
But Beauty¡¦s self she is
When all her robes are gone.

¡@

*  

She lay all naked in her bed

She lay all naked in her bed,
And I myself lay by;
No veil but curtains about her spread,
No covering but I.
Her head upon her shoulder seeks
To hang in careless wise,
And full of blushes were her cheeks,
And of wishes were her eyes. 

Her blood still fresh into her face,
As on a message came,
To say that in another place
It meant another game.
Her cherry lip moist, plump and fair,
Millions of kisses crown,
Which ripe and uncropt dangled there,
And weighed the branches down.

Her breasts, that welled so plump and high
Bread pleasant pain in me.
For all the world I do defy
The like felicity;
Her thighs and belly, soft and fair,
To me were only shown:
To have seen such meat, and not to eat,
Would anger any stone.

Her knees lay upward gently bent,
And all lay hollow under,
As if on easy terms, they meant
To fall unforced asunder;
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,
Expecting in her bower,
When too long stay had kept the boy
Beyond his promised hour.

¡§Dull clown,¡¨ quoth she, ¡§Why dost delay
Such proffered bliss to take?
Canst thou find out no other way
Similitudes to make?¡¨
Mad with delight I, thundering,
Throw my arms about her,
But pox upon¡¦t ¡¦twas but a dream.
And so I lay without her.

¡@

*

Breeder 

I want to watch you intimately
without you knowing my eyes see only you,
without the unconscious barriers we build
in the presence of people.
I want to be your voyeur¡X
the holder of your daily secrets¡X
and hope that it is the only sickness
you breed in me.

         

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    µL¦W¤ó¤£¬O¤@­Ó¤Hªº¦W¦r¡A¦ý¥L¤j·§¬O¥j©¹¤µ¨Ó³Ì¬ð¥X¡B³Ì±`¥X²{ªº¡B¹Ø©R³Ìªøªº¤@­Ó§@ªÌ¡C¨C¤@­Ó®É¥N¡A¨C¤@­Ó¦a°ì¡A³£¦³³\¦h§@ªÌ¤£©ú¡B³Ð§@¦~¥N¤£©úªº¸Ö§@¡C¦ÛµM¡A¥¦­Ìªº§@ªÌ¨Ã«D¬O©m¡uµL¡v¡A¦W¡u¦W¤ó¡vªº¦P¤@¦ì¡C¦ý¤@¦p¥@¬É¦U¦a³\¦h§H¦Wªº¸Ö§@¡A¥¦­Ì½è¾ë¡BÂA¬¡¦a§e²{¤F¤HÃþ¦@¦Pªº±¡·P¡J·Rªº´÷±æ¡A²qºÃ¡A¶ú§ª¡K¡K¡A¤£¦]®ÉªÅ¡B»y¨¥ªºÅܾE¦Ó¦³©Ò¿Æ¦â¡C´N¦¹·N¸q¦Ó¨¥¡AµL¦W¤ó¨ä¹ê¬O¤HÃþ¦@¦Pªº¦W¦r¡C

    ¦¹®Ñ¿ïĶªºµL¦W¤ó§@«~¡q¦è­·¡r¡A¤j¬ù²£¥Í©ó¤Q¤»¥@¬ö¡A¬O­^°ê¤å¾Ç¥v¤Wªº¦W§@¡Cµuµu¥|¦æ¡A¥Í°Ê¦aªí²{¤F¤@­Ó­Â¹C¦b¥~ªº®È¤H¡A¹ï®a¡B¹ï©Ò·Rªº¤Hªº´÷±æ¡C¦è­·¦b­^°ê¥X²{®É¬O¬K¤Ñ¡A©Ò¥H§Ú­Ì¥i¥H¦b«e¨â¦æ¸Ö¤¤¡A¶å¨ì¥L¹ï¬K«B¡B¹ï¬K¤Ñ®ð®§ªº¼¥¼©¡C¦Ó«á­±¨â¦æ§ó¶i¤@¨B¦a´¦ÅS¥X³Ì¥O¤H¤ß°Êªº¬K¦â¡G¨â­Ó¬Û·Rªº¨k¤k¦@³B¤@§É¡C°ò·þ°Ú¡A¤Ñ°Ú¡A³o¬O¦óµ¥¬ü§®ªº¨Æ°Ú¡I

    ¡q¥|¤ë¦b§Ú±¡¤HªºÁy¤W¡r¡A²¼ä¦a¨Ï¥Î¤@¦~§N¼ö¤£¤@ªº¥|­Ó¤ë¥÷¡A¨Ó¨è¹º¤@¦ì¥~·x¤º§Nªºªº»Å±¡¤H¡G¦oªºÁy¬O©M·Öªº¥|¤ë¡A¦oªº²´·ú¬OÀéÄꪺ¤C¤ë¡A¦oªº¯Ý³¡¬OÂ׺¡ªº¬î¤Ñ¤E¤ë¡A¦ý¦oªº¤ß¬O¤Q¤G¤ë´H¥V¡I­^°ê¤Q¤»¥@¬ö¦W§@¦±®a¼¯§Q¡]Thomas Morley¡A1557-1602¡^¡A´¿©ó1594¦~±N¤§ÃЦ¨¥|Án³¡ªº±¡ºq¡]Madrigal¡^¡A¦Ü¤µ¤´¼s¬°¤H°Û¡C

    ¡q±áºq¡r¤]¬O¤Q¤»¥@¬öµL¦W¤óªº§@«~¡A¦ý±`³Q»~«ü¬°¸Ö¤H­ð®¦¡]John Donne¡^¤§§@¡]­ð®¦ªº½T¼g¤FÃD§÷¬Û¦üªº¤@­º¡q¯}¾å¡r¡A§Ú­Ì¦b³o¥»®Ñ¤¤¤]½Ķ¤F¡^¡C¦¹¸Ö«D±`¥i·R¡A¨kªº¬Ý¨ì¤Ñ«G¡A¤kªº»¡¤£­n°Ê¡A¤£­n°_§É¡AÁÙ¨S¯}¾å¡A¬O§Úªº¤ß¯}µõ¡A¦]¬°§A¤@°_§É¡AÂ÷§Ú¦Ó¥h¡A§Ú©M§Aªº·Å¦s¡A§Úªº³ß®®¡A§Úªº§Ö·P´N·|¤Ô§é¤F¡C¡m¸Ö¸g¡n¡u»ô­·¡v¸Ì¦³¤@­º¡qÂû»ï¡r¡A©M³o­º­^¸Ö±¡¹Ò¥¿¦n¬Û¤Ï¡G¤kªºÅ¥¨ìÂû»ï¡A»°ºò¥s¨kªº°_§É¤W´Â¡A¨kªº«o¿à§É±À»¡¤£¬OÂû¥s¡A¦Ó¬O»aÃǤ§Án¡]¡uÂû¬J»ï¨o¡A´Â¬J¬Õ¨o¡F­êÂû«h»ï¡A»aÃǤ§Án¡v¡^¡CÃø¹D¦è¤èªF¤è¨k¤k¹ï±¡·R¹ï§É²Äªº²²Åʦ³§O¡H

    ¡q±¡ºq¡r¡]¤S¦W ¡§My Love in her attire¡¨¡^³Ìªì¥X²{¦b1602¦~¥Xª©ªº¤@¥»¦W¥s¡m¨g·Q¸Ö¡n¡]A Poetical Rhapsody¡^ªº¿ï¶°¸Ì¡A·Q¨Ó¬O¤Q¤C¥@¬öªì©Î¤Q¤»¥@¬öªº§@«~¡C¸Ö¤¤ªº»¡¸ÜªÌ»¡¥Lªº·R¤H«Ü·|¥´§ê¡A«Ü·|¬ï¦çªA¡A¦ý¥Lı±o¦o³Ì¬üªº¬ïµÛ¬O·í¦o¤@µ·¤£±¾®É¡C¦¹¸Ö´¿³Q¦h¦ì§@¦±®aÃЦ¨¦±¡A¥]¬A¬ü°êªº Frederic Ayres¡]1876-1926¡^¡A­^°êªº William Walton¡]1902-1983¡^¡A·ç¤hªº Jürg Wyttenbach¡]1935- ) µ¥¡C

   ¡q¦o¤@µ·¤£±¾½öª×§É¤W¡r¬O¤Q¤C¥@¬ö²§¦â¤§§@¡C¥þ¸Ö¼g¤@­Ó¹Ú¹Ò¡G¸Ö¤¤¤H¹Ú¨£¤@»r¨­¦Óª×ªº¤k¤l¦V¥L¥l³ê¡A­n¥L¦@¨É³½¤ô¤§Åw¡F¥L¨g³ß§Ñ§Î¡A¼³¨­¾Ö©ê¡AÅå¿ô¡A¤~ª¾¬O¤@³õ¬K¹Ú¡C¾ã­º¸Öªá¤F¤­¤À¤§¥|ªº½g´T¥J²Ó´y¼g¤k¤lªº¨­Åé¡]±q²´¡A¨ì®B¡A¨ìÁyÀU¡A¨ìªÓ»H¡A¨ì¨Å©Ð¡A¨ì»LªÑ©M¤p¸¡¡A¨ì½¥»\¡^¡AŪªÌ§Ï©»¦b¸Ö¤Hªº¾É¤Þ¤§¤UÂsÄý¤F¤HÅ餧¬ü¡C¸Ö¤¤±Ô­zª½±µ¤jÁx¡A·N¶H¾ë©å¡A¥Îµü¥Rº¡±¡¼¤¦â±m¡AŪ¨Ó¥O¤HÁy¬õ¤ß¸õ¡A¤S¤£¸T²ðº¸¡C

    ³Ì«á¤@­º¡q¯f·½¡r¬O¤@­º¥Z§G©óºô¸ô¤WªºµL¦W¤ó§@«~¡C´N¤º®e©M§Î¦¡¬Ý¡AÅãµM¬O¸ûªñ¥N¤§§@¡A»¡¤£©w¬O±q¥L°ê¤å¦rÂন­^»yªÌ¡C·R±¡ªº¨Öµo¯g¥j¨Ó¥H¬Û«ä¡B¥¢¯v¡B¹ÚÅm¡B¶ú§ªµ¥¬°ÅãµÛ¡A¡u°½¿s¡v¤@¯g¦ü¥G±ßªñ©l¬y¦æ¡C
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²ï¤h¤ñ¨È¡]William Shakespeare, 1564-1616¡^

Sonnet No. 18
 Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ      Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Nils Lindberg ¦±

Shall I compare thee to a summer¡¦s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer¡¦s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm¡¦d;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance, or nature¡¦s changing course untrimm¡¦d;  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow¡¦st,  
Nor shall death brag thou wander¡¦st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou grow¡¦st:   
 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,  
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


¦±
/ ºt°Û¡G¥T¤Ñ»¨

 
  
     

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Sonnet No. 71
  Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O! if, I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

¡@

          

¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä71­º

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Sonnet No. 73
 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin¡¦d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see¡¦st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death¡¦s second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see¡¦st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum¡¦d with that which it was nourish¡¦d by.

  This thou perceive¡¦st, which makes thy love more strong,

  To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

¡@

          

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Sonnet No. 129

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The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action, and till action, lust

Is perjur¡¦d, murderous, bloody full of blame,

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

Enjoy¡¦d no sooner but despised straight;

Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,

Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait

On purpose laid to make the taker mad¡X

Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;

A bliss in proof; and prov¡¦d, a very woe,

Before, a joy propos¡¦d; behind, a dream.

  All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

  To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

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Sonnet No. 130

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My mistress¡¦ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips¡¦ red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask¡¦d, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

   As any she belied with false compare.

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Æ[½à¡qO mistress mine¡r¤TºØºt°Û¡G «e¨â­º§@¦±ªÌ¬° Morley¡A
²Ä¤@¦±
Joanne Lunn °Û¡F²Ä¤G¦± (4:32 ³B) Robert Tear °Û¡C
²Ä¤T¦±
(7:26 ³B) §@¦±ªÌ¬° György¡A
¦I¤ú§QµL¦ñ«µ¦X°Û¹Îºt°Û ¡C

 

O mistress mine  
Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Morley ¦±      Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Gyorgy ¦±

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 O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love¡¦s coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man¡¦s son doth know. 

What is love? ¡¦tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What¡¦s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth¡¦s a stuff will not endure.

         


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Æ[½à¡qIt was a lover and his lass¡r¤TºØºt°Û¡G «e¨â­º§@¦±ªÌ¬°
Morley¡A²Ä¤@¦±
Joanne Lunn °Û¡F²Ä¤G¦± (3:36 ³B) Robert Tear °Û¡C
²Ä¤T¦±
(6:11 ³B) §@¦±ªÌ¬° Warlock¡Aºt°ÛªÌ¬° Swingle Singers ¡C

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It was a lover and his lass
Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Morley ¦±     Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Dring ¦±

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 It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o¡¦er the green cornfield did pass.
In spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding,
Sweet lovers love the spring.

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Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie.
In spring time, etc.

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This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower.
In spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crowned with the prime.

In spring time, etc.

         


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«¸´Ë¡]Ben Jonson, 1567-1637¡^

To Celia
Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ     Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Linda Maguire

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in
the cup,
And I¡¦ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove¡¦s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst
only breathe,
And send¡¦st it back to me;
Since when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!

          

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«¸´Ë´¿Áö¦bµû½×¤å³¹¤¤¦ÛºÙ¦Û¤vªº¸Ö§@¬Oªu¥Î©Ô¤B¤å¾Çªº¶Ç²Î¡]ù°¨¸Ö¤HHorace ¬O¥L³ßÅwªº§@®a¡A¤]¬O¾Ç²ßªº¹ï¶H¡^¡A¦ý¥L¨Ã¤£¬O¤@¨ý¦a¼Ò¥é¡A¦Ó¬O±N¤§ÆF¬¡¹B¥Î¡AÂà¤Æ¦¨¦Û¤vªº¸Ö­· ¡C¥L¾Õ¥ÎÄ´³ë¡A¿ï¥Îªº·N¶H¥­©öªñ¤H¡A«Ü¯à¤Þ°_ŪªÌ¦@»ï¡F¥L¸Ö¤¤±¡·P¸`¨î¡A¿@¯P¦Ó¤£©ñÁa¡A­È±oª±¨ý¡C¥L¦b¤@½g½×¼g§@¤èªkªº´²¤å¤¤´£¨ì¡G¦nªº§@®a¹ïÃD§÷¥²¶·¨è·N¸gÀç¡AµZ¿i¦A¤T¡A¤@´§¦Ó´Nªº§@­·µLªk²£¥Í¦n§@«~ªº¡A§Y«K¦Ûı¦³±Ó±¶¤å¤~¡A¤]­n¹³µ¹°¨¥[°¨°Ç¤@¯ë¦Û§Ú§J¨î¡A¦]¬°¡u¦nªºµ§½Õ´N¦n¹³¼Ö¾¹¤@¼Ë¡A¥²¶·¦U³¡¤À°t·f©M¿Ó¡v¡C¦pªG»¡²ï¤h¤ñ¨È¥Nªí¨ÌÄR²ï¥Õ®É¥NªºµºÄRªº®öº©­·®æ¡A¨º»ò«¸´Ë«h¥Nªí¸Ó®É¥Nªº¸`¨îªº¥j¨å¤§¬ü¡C

«¸´Ëªº¡mµu¸Ö¶°¡n¡]Epigrammes¡^¦¬¿ý¦³133­º¤p«~¸Ö¡A¸Ö§@¦h¨ú§÷¦Û¥Í¬¡¡A²¼ä¥i»w¡A­·½ì¤¤±a¦³¼J¿Ø¡F¥Lªº§ç±¡¸Ö¶°¡m´ËªL¶°¡n¡]The Forest¡^¦¬¿ý¤F³\¦h¥L¦Ûıº¡·Nªº¹|ºq©M±¡¸Ö¡A¦¹³B¿ïĶªº¡qµ¹¦è²ú¨È¡r«K¬O¨ä¤¤¤§¤@¡A¤]¬O²³©Ò¤½»{³Ì°Ê¤Hªº¤@­º¡C¦¹¸Ö´y­z¹ï¦è²ú¨Èªº·R¼}¤§·N¡G¦oªº²´¯«¥O¥L¨I¾K¡A³Ó¹L¬ü°s¡A¬Æ¦Ü³Ó¹L¤Ñ°êªºÃ£¼ß¥ÉÅS¡F¦oªº®ð®§¨ã¦³Å]¤O¡A¥i¨Ïªá¦·¥Ã«OªâªÚ¤£­ä¡C³o­º¸ÖÁöµM¥DÃD»á¬°±`¨£¡A¦ý¥Î¦r¡B­µÃý¥i°é¥iÂI¡C¥þ¸Ö¦@¤À¨â¸`¡A¨C¸`¤K¦æ¡A©_¼Æ¦æ¥Ñ¤K­Ó­µ¸`ºc¦¨¡A¦Ó°¸¼Æ¦æ«h¥Ñ¤»­Ó­µ¸`ºc¦¨¡A¨äÃý¸}¼Ò¦¡¬° abcb abcb efgf efgf¡A§Î¦¡¹ïºÙ¡BÄY¾ã¡C§Ú­Ìªº¤¤Ä¶¤O¨D¯à¹üÅã­ì¸Ö­µÃý¤§¬ü¡C

³o­º¸Ö¼g¦¨1616¦~¡A­ìÃD¬°¡qºq¡Gµ¹¦è²ú¨È¡r¡A¦ÛµM¦­³QÃЦ¨¯àºq¤§¦±¡A¦Ü¤µ¤´¼s¬°¥@¬É¦U¦aªººqªÌ©M¦X°Û¹Î©Ò°Û¡C¦¹¦±°_·½¦ó³B¤w¤£¥i¦Ò¡A¦ý¤j¬ù¬O¦b1770¦~¥ª¥k©Î¤§«á¤~¥X²{¡C¦³¤@ºØ»¡ªk»¡¬O²ö¥¾¯S©Ò§@¡A¦ý¨ÃµLÃÒ¾Ú¡C¥t¦³»¡¬O±ö§Q­E¤W®Õ¡]Colonel Mellish¡^©Ò§@¡A¦ý¦ü¥G¤£¥i¯à¡A¦]¬°¤j®a¬Û«H¥L1777¦~¤~¥X¥Í¡C­^°ê§@¦±®a«¶º¸¯S¤]´¿§ï½s¦¹¦±¡A¦¬©ó¨ä¡m¤T­º¥j¦Ñ­^°ê¥Áºq¡n¤¤¡C¦³¿³½ìªºÅªªÌ¥i¥H¦bºô¸ô©ÎCD¤W¡A§ä¨ì¦¹¦±ªº¤£¦Pºt°Û¡C


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²ü¥ß§J¡]Robert Herrick, 1591-1674¡^

Delight in Disorder  Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.


*
¡@

Upon the Nipples of Julia¡¦s Breast

Have you beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam,
A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

 
*

Fresh Cheese and Cream

Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?
Julia¡¦s breast can give you them.
And if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here¡¦s strawberries.

 
*

Upon Her Feet

Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.


*

Her Legs 

Fain would I kiss Julia¡¦s dainty leg,
Which is as white and hairless as an egg.

           

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³S¤f«å©¿Â¾¦u¡A¦]¦Ó
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°g¤Hªº®ö¡A¤Þ¤Hª`¥Ø¡A
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³o¨Ç¹ï§ÚªºÅ]¤O¡A»·³Ó
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³o¸Ì¦³¯ó²ù°t§A­ÌªºÂA¥¤ªo¡I

 
 
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²ü¥ß§J¡]Robert Herrick¡A1591-1674¡^¡A­^°ê¸Ö¤H¡A»P¯Z¡D«¸´Ë©M¬ù¿«¡D­ð®¦»ô¦W¡C¥L¥X¥Í­Û´°¤¤²£¶¥¯Å¡A¤÷¿Ë¬°­Û´°³Ì´I¦³ªºª÷¦K¤§¤@¡A¦b²ü¥ß§J¥X¥Í«á¤£¤[§Y¥h¥@¡F1607¦~¡A²ü¥ß§JÀH¨Æ·~¦P¼Ë¦³¦¨ªºª÷¦K¨û¤÷¤J¦æ¾ÇÃÀ¡A¦Ü1613¦~Âà¦V¶i¤J¼C¾ô¤j¾Ç´NŪ¡A©ó1620¦~ÀòºÓ¤h¾Ç¦ì¡C1623¦~¡A²ü¥ß§J¦¨¬°¤@¦W¯«Â¾¤H­û¡C¦ý¬O¥Lªº¯«Â¾¥Í²P¨Ã¤£³æ½Õ¬\Àê¡A¦]¬°¼g¸Ö¨Ï¥LÂí¤é¦³·Q¹³¤¤ªº½Ñ¦h¥K¤k¡]¯üÄR¨È¡B¬ìµY®R¡B¬£²ú¨È¡B¶®¨å®Rµ¥¡^¬Û¦ñ¡C1648¦~¡A¥L±N¸Ö§@¥Xª©¡A¤£¹L¥¼¤Þ°_ª`·N¡A¦]¬°·í®É­^°ê¤H¥Á¥¿³´¤J¼f§P©M³B¦º¬d²z¤@¥@ªº¿E±¡¤§¤¤¡C

ÁöµM³o¥»¡mª÷Ä«ªG¶é¡n¡]Hesperides¡^¬O²ü¥ß§J¥Xª©¹Lªº°ß¤@¸Ö¶°¡A¦ý©Ò¦³¥L·P¿³½ìªºÃD§÷ºÉ¦b¨ä¤¤¡X¡X±q¤k¤lªº¶p¯Ý¡A¨ì¥L»P¤W«ÒªºÃö«Y¡C³o¥»¸Ö¶°¥]¬A¤F¨â­Ó³¡¥÷¡A¤@¬°¥@«UÃD§÷¤§¸Öºq¡A¤@¬°³Q¥LºÙ¬°¡u¸tµú¶°¡v¡]His Noble Numbers¡^ªº©v±Ð¸Ö¡X¡X³o¨Ç©v±Ð¸Ö¨Ã¤£¶ø¯µ¡A©ú¥Õ²LÅã¤@¦p¥Lªº«D©v±Ð¸Ö¡C¥L¹ï¬Fªv¡B¤HÃþ¦b¦t©zªº¦ì¸m¡B¤HÃþ±¡·Pªº¶Â·t­±µ¥­«¤j¥DÃD¨Ã¤£·P¿³½ì¡A¤Ï¦Ó±NIJ¨¤¦ù¦V¥Í¬¡¶g¾D²Ó¸`¡C¥LÆ[¹î²Ó¿°²`¨è¡A·N¶HÂA¬¡ºë·Ç¡A¤Á¤J¨Æª«ªº¨¤«×¿W¨ì¡A¬Ý¦ü¥­²HµL©_ªº¨Æª«¡A¨ì¥Lµ§¤U¡A©¹©¹·n¨­¤@Åܦ¨¬°¿³¨ý¤Q¨¬ªºÃÀ³N«~¡A¦]¦¹¦³µû½×ªÌºÙ¥L¬°¡u¤é±`º¾¨ÆªºÀJµZ¤j®v¡v»P¡u»y¨¥ªºª÷¦K©M¯]Ä_¦K¡v¡A¥L¤Æ»G¦´¬°¯«©_ªº¥\¤O¡A¦b­^»y¸Ö¾ÂÃø³V¤Ç¼ÄªÌ¡C

¦b¡q¯üÄR¨Èªº¨ÅÀY¡r¤@¸Ö¡A¥L¤@¤f®ð¥Î¤F¡u¦Û¥Õª´ºÀ­I«á°½¿sªº¬õª´ºÀ¡v¡A¡u¦Ê¦Xªá¤¤¶¡ªºÄå®ç¡v¡A¡u¥b¨­®ûªw¦bÂA¥¤ªo¸Ìªº¯ó²ù¡v¡A©M¡u²Û¬õµÛÁy¬ï¹L¥ú¼ä¬Ã¯]ªº¬õÄ_¥Û¡vµ¥·N¶H¼g¤Ö¤kªº¨ÅÀY¡C³o¥|²Õµøı¡B¨ýı¡BIJı®ÄªG¥æ¿Äªº·N¶H¡A¦³±¡¦âªº¼v®g¡A«o¤S¤@¬£¯Â¯uµL¨¸¡A§â¤kÅ骺´y­z´£¤É¨ìÃÀ³Nªº¼h¦¸¡C¥t¤@­º¡q·sÂAªº¨Å¹T©MÂA¥¤ªo¡r¡AÅãµM¬O¦P¤@¥DÃDªº¤pÅÜ«µ¡A¦ý§ó¤f»y¦Óª½±µ¡C

¦b¡q­â¶Ã¦Û±o¡r¤@¸Ö¡A¥LºqÆg¤k¤l­â¶Ãªº¦ç­m¤Ä¼º°_ªº§O¨ã­·±¡¤§¬ü¡C¥L±N¦çªAªº²Ó³¡ÀÀ¤H¤Æ¡A½á¤©¨ä¥Í©R¤O¡A±N¡u­â¶Ã¦Û±o¡vªº´º¶H¤@¹õ¹õ§e²{¦bŪªÌ²´«e¡X¡X¾c±a²Ê¤ß¤j·N¡Aô±a¤£¦w©ó«Ç¡A³S¤f«å©¿Â¾¦u¡A¦Óµ·±aÀH·NÄÆ««¡AŨ¸ÈÄ̰ʤ£¤w¡K¡K¡CÂǥѳo¨Ç·N¶H¡A¥Lºq¹|¡u³¥©Êªº¤å¶®¡v( wild civility ) ¡A»{¬°¤£¾ãªº¦ç­m¤Ï¦Ó¨Ï¤k¤l§ó¼W²K¾y¤O¡A²æ­y¡B¤Þ¤H¹I·Qªº¬ïµÛ¡u¹ï§ÚªºÅ]¤O¡A»·³Ó¡þ¤@¤Á¤¤³W¤¤¯x®É¡v¡]Do more bewitch me, than when art¡þIs too precise in every part.¡^¡C¦b¡q¦oªºÂù¨¬¡rµuµu¤­¦æ¸Ö¸Ì¡A¥L¥Î¡u½½¤ûª±¸ú¿ß¿ß¡vªº·N¶H¡A¼g¤k¤lºC¨B»´²¾®É¡A¾c¦y¦b¸ÈÄü¤U­YÁô­Y²{ªº¡u´º½o¡v¡C¥t¤@­º¡q¦oªº»L¡r§óµu¡A¥u¦³¨â¦æ¡A¦ý§â¯üÄR¨Èªº¶ê¼íªº¬ü»L¤ñ°µ¬O¤@Áû¥Õ²bµL¤ò¤§¡u³J¡v¡A¹ê¦b¥O¤H²ðº¸Ãø§Ñ¡C³o¨Ç¸Ö§@ªº»y½Õ±a¦³´X¤ÀÀ¸ë¦¦ý¤£¥¢²ø­«¡A¼zÃ\«ÕÀq«o¤£¬y©ó»´¯B¡A¦b¦bÃÒ©ú¤F²ü¥ß§J¬O¦Û¦¨¤@®æªº¡u¤k©Ê­·±¡ªº¤å¦rµe®v¡v¡C

  ¤Q¤E¥@¬ö­^°ê¸Ö¤H¥v·Å¥»¡]Swinburne¡^ºÙ²ü¥ß§J¬O¡u­^»y¥Á±Ú³Ì°¶¤jªººq¦±§@ªÌ¡v¡A²ü¥ß§Jªº¸Ö´X¦Ê¦~¨Ó¦ÛµMÀò±o³\¦h§@¦±®aªº«C·ý¡AHindemith¡BBritten¡BDelius¡BWarlock¡BCarter¡BRoremµ¥¼w¡B­^¡B¬ü¦W®a³£ÃйL¡C¥ý«e´£¨ìªº­^°ê§@¦±®a«¶º¸¯S¡A´N¦³¤@²Õºq¦±¶°¥s¡mµ¹¯üÄR¨È¡n¡]To Julia¡AOp.8¡^¡AÃФF¤»­º²ü¥ß§Jªº¯üÄR¨È¸Ö¡A¥i±¤¦¹³BĶªº´X­º¥L¨S¦³Ãжi¥h¡C


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°¨«Âº¸¡]Andrew Marvell, 1621-1678¡^

¡@

To His Coy Mistress Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way 
To walk and pass our long love¡¦s day. 
Thou by the Indian Ganges¡¦ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood, 
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; 
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part, 
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state, 
Nor would I love at lower rate.

  But at my back I always hea
r

Time¡¦s wingèd chariot hurrying near; 
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity. 
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave¡¦s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
  Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.


 
  
     

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°¨ºûº¸¡]Andrew Marvell¡A1621-1678¡^¥©§®¦a¿Ä¦X¤F¥ìÄR²ï¥Õ®É¥N§ç±¡¸ÖªºÀu¶®¥H¤Î¥È¾Ç¸Ö¬£ªºÄYÂÔª¾©Ê¡A¦b¤Q¤C¥@¬ö­^°ê¸Ö¾Â¦a¦ì¤£®e©¿µø¡C¥X¨­²M±Ð®{®a®xªº¥L¡A¤Q¤G·³¶i¤J¼C¾ô¤j¾Ç¤T¤@¾Ç°|´NŪ¡A³þ©w¨}¦nªº¥j¨å¤å¾Ç°ò¦¡A¤Q¤K·³Àò¾Ç¤h¾Ç¦ì¡AÀH«á¨ì¼Ú¬w®È¹C¥|¦~¡A¹ïªk¤å¡B¸q¤j§Q¤å¡B¦è¯Z¤ú¡B²üÄõµ¥°ê¤å¾Ç¤]²¤¦³¯AÂy¡C 1657 ¦~¡A¥L´¿¾á¥ô·í®É¤wÂù¥Ø¥¢©úªº¦Ìº¸¹y¡]John Milton¡^ªº©Ô¤B¤å®Ñ°O§U²z¡A¨Ã©ó 1659 ¦~°_¾á¥ô°ê·|ij­û¹F¤G¤Q¦~¤§¤[¡]¾Ú»¡¦Ìº¸¹y¦b´_¹@¨Æ¥ó¤¤±o§K¤@¦º¡A°¨ºûº¸¬O¥\¦Ú¤§¤@¡^¡C

1660¦~¤§«á¡A°¨ºûº¸ªºµÛ§@¥D­n¬O§çµo¬Fªv²z·Q¡B¿Ø¨ë®É¬Fªº¸Ö¤å¡AÂA¦³­Ó¤H¤º¤ß±´¯Á¤§§@¡F¥Lªº§ç±¡¸Ö¥D­n¼g©ó 1650 ¦~¥N¡C¥L·Q¹³¤OÂרK¡A¸Ö¥y±a¦³¤@ºØºë½m¡B§NÀRªº¯S½è¡C¥L´¿¦b¸Ö¤¤Ä²¤Î¦p¤Uªº¥DÃD¡Gª«½è¥@¬É©M©ÊÆF¥@¬Éªº¹ïÀ³Ãö«Y¡]¡qÆF»î»P¨­Å骺¹ï¸Ü¡r [A Dialogue Between the Soul and Body] ¡^¡FÃÀ³Nªºµê¦k»PµL¤O·P¡]¡q«a°Ã¡r [The Coronet] ¡^¡F¨k©Êªº±¡¼¤·Q¹³¥@¬É¡]¡qµe´Y¡r [The Gallery] ¡^¡F¯u·RÃø´Mªº®ø·¥·R±¡Æ[¡]¡q·R±¡ªº©w¸q¡r [The Definition of Love] ¡^¡F¥H¡u¤Î®É¦æ¼Ö¡v¹ï§Ü¥Í¤§µu¼Èªº·Rªº©IÆ~¡]¡q­P²Û©Äªº±¡¤H¡r¡^¡C

¡q­P²Û©Äªº±¡¤H¡r³o­º¸Öªº¥DÃD©M³\¦h·R±¡¸Ö¬O¬Û³qªº¡G¡u§â´¤·í¤U¡A¤Î®É¦æ¼Ö¡v¡A¤]´N¬O©Ô¤B¤å©Ò¿×ªº¡ucarpe diem¡v¡]µ¥©ó­^¤å¡useize the day¡v¡^¡C¦¹µüÁö¬Où°¨¸Ö¤H¶P·ç´µ©Ò³Ð¡A¦ý¦b¥j¤µ¤å¾Ç¸Ì¹ð¨£¤£ÂA¡C¦­¦b§Æþ®É´Á¡A¸Ö¤HAsclepiades´N¤w¼g¤U³o¼Ëªº¸Ö¥y¡G¡u§A¦uÅ@§Aªº³B¤k½¤¡A¦³¦ó¦n³B¡H¦b­ß©²¡A§A¬O§ä¤£¨ì·R¤Hªº¡A©h®Q¡C¥Í©R¨ì³B¬O·R±¡ªºÅw®T¡A¦ý¬O©h®Q°Ú¡A½ö¦b¦a©³®É¡A´N¥u³Ñ°©Àe©M¹Ð¤g¤F¡C¡v¦b¤Q¤»¡B¤Q¤C¥@¬ö­^»y·R±¡¸Ö¸Ì¤×¨ä±`¨£¡C²ü¥ß§J¦b¥Lªº¡qÄU¤Ö¤k­Ìµ½¥Î®É¥ú¡r¡]To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time¡^¤@¸Ö¶}ÀY¡A´N¥H¡u ±Ä©¼ª´ºÀªáÁ¢¶X¦¼¯à¡A¡þ®É¥ú³o¦ÑªF¦è¤£°±­¸³u¡v¡]Gather ye rosebuds while ye may¡þOld Time is still a-flying¡^ÂI¥X¦¹¤@¥DÃD¡A³o©M¤¤°ê¥j¸Ö¥y¡u¦³ªá³ô§éª½»Ý§é¡v©Ò¥Î·N¶H¦p¥X¤@Âá¡C

¡q­P²Û©Äªº±¡¤H¡rªº¥DÃDÁöµL·s·N¡A¦ý¨ä§e²{¤è¦¡¼h¦¸¤À©ú¡A¥H·P©Ê¬°¸Ì¡Aª¾©Ê¬°ªí¡A¬O¤@­º»á¨ã¯S¦âªº§ç±¡¸Ö¡C¾ã­º¸Ö¥H¤T¬q¦¡ªº»¡²z¬[ºc¡A¥ø¹Ï»¡ªA·R¤H¬Û·R­n¶X¦­¡A¤Å¦A²Û©Ä¬á«ù¡C¤@¶}©l¡A¸Ö¤H¦ü¥G»¡¥LÄ@·Nªá¤W¼Æ¦Ê¡B¼Æ¸U¦~¥J²Ó¦aºq»w·R¤Hªº¬ü¡A­@¤ß¦a³­¦ñ¦o¡Aµ¥­Ô¦oÂIÀYµªÀ³¡A¤£¹L¦¹¤@±¡ªp¬O«Ø¥ß¦b¤@­Ó°²³]«e´£¤§¤W¡G¡u¦pªG§Ú­Ìªº¥@¬É°÷¤j¡A®É¶¡°÷¦h¡v¡A¦Ó¨Æ¹ê¬O¡X¡X¤H¥ÍªºªÅ¶¡©M®É¶¡³£¬O¦³­­ªº¡C§Y«K¸Ö¤H¥¼©ú¥Õ»¡¥X¡A§Y«K¸Ö¤H»y®ð·Å©M¸ÛÀµ¡A¦ý¾\Ū¦Ü¦¹¡A§Ú­Ì¤w²M·¡¦aª¾¹D¨ä¤¤ªº¤Ý¸Þ¡G·í«e´£¤£¦¨¥ß®É¡A«á­±ªº±À½×¦ÛµM¤]´N³Q±À½¤F¡C±µµÛ¡A¸Ö¤H¤@§ï«e­±·Å¬X´°«pªº²¢»e»y®ð¡A¥N¤§¦Ó°_ªº¬O¥H¡u¹Ó¥Þ¡v¡B¡uÂγI¡vµ¥³±´Ë¥i©Æªº·N¶H¡A§e²{§N®mªº²{¹ê¡G¦b®É¶¡ªºÅX­¢©M¦º¤`ªº³±¼v¤§¤U¡A¤@¤Áªº¬ü»P·R³£±N¤Æ¬°¯Q¦³¡C³Ì«á¡A¦b®ÇºV°¼À»ªºªºÅÞ¿è±À²z¤§«á¡A¸Ö¤H¶}©l¥¿­±¥XÀ»¡A¥H´÷¤Áªº»y½Õ¡A¤@¤f®ð©ß¥X«C¬K¦p´ÂÅS¡BÆF»î´²µo¤õµK¡B²r¸V¤j¤f§]¾½¡B²¢»eºu¦¨¶ê²y½Ä¯}¥Í©R¬]Äæµ¥·N¶H¡A­n·R¤H±µ¨ü¥Lªº¨D·R¡A¤Å¶d­t«C¬K¦~µØ¡C

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µá²ú´¶µ·¡]Katherine Philips, 1631-1664¡^

To My Excellent Lucasia, on
Our Friendship
  Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

I did not live until this time
Crown¡¦d  my felicity,
When I could say without a crime,
I am not thine, but thee.

This carcass breath¡¦d, and walkt, and slept,
So that the world believe¡¦d
There was a soul the motions kept;
But they were all deceiv¡¦d.

For as a watch by art is wound
To motion, such was mine:
But never had Orinda found
A soul till she found thine;

Which now inspires, cures and supplies,
And guides my darkened breast:
For thou art all that I can prize,
My joy, my life, my rest.

No bridegroom¡¦s nor crown-conqueror¡¦s mirth
To mine compar'd can be:
They have but pieces of the earth,
I've all the world in thee.

Then let our flames still light and shine,
And no false fear controul,
As innocent as our design,
Immortal as our soul.


*
 

To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence

¡¦Tis now since I began to die
Four months, yet still I gasping live;
Wrapp¡¦d up in sorrow do I lie,
Hoping, yet doubting a reprieve.
Adam from Paradise expell¡¦d
Just such a wretched being held

 ¡¦Tis not thy love I fear to lose,
That will in spite of absence hold;
But ¡¦tis the benefit and use
Is lost, as in imprison¡¦d gold:
Which though the sum be ne¡¦er so great,
Enriches nothing but conceit.

What angry star then governs me
That I must feel a double smart,
Prisoner to fate as well as thee;
Kept from thy face, link¡¦d to thy heart?
Because my love all love excels,
Must my grief have no parallels?

 Sapless and dead as Winter here
I now remain, and all I see
Copies of my wild state appear,
But I am their epitome.
Love me no more, for I am grown
Too dead and dull for thee to own.

           

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 µá²ú´¶µ·¡]Katherine Philips, 1631-1664¡^¡A¤Q¤C¥@¬ö­^°ê¤k¸Ö¤H¡A¥»¦W³ÍÂĵY¡D¦ò¼Ö¡]Katherine Fowler¡^¡A¥Í©ó­Û´°¡A¬°°Ó¤H¤§¤k¡A´NŪ±H±J¾Ç®Õ¡A16 ·³¨º¦~¤U¶ù 54 ·³ªº¸â©i¤h¡C¸â©i¤h¦h¥b¦í¦b«Âº¸´µªu©¤¡A¦Óµá²ú´¶µ·«hªø©~­Û´°¡C¸â©i¤h¤£¦ý¹ªÀy¦o±q¨Æ¤å¾Ç³Ð§@¡A§óÅý¦o¨É¦³·¥¤jªº­Ó¤H¦Û¥Ñ¡Cµá²ú´¶µ·©ó 33 ·³¨º¦~·P¬V¤Ñªá¹L¥@¡A²Ä¤@¥»¸Ö§@©ó 1667 ¦~¥¿¦¡¥Xª©¡C®öº©¬£¦W¸Ö¤HÀÙ·O¡]John Keats¡^´¿¦b­P¤Í¤Hªº«H¤¤±À±R¨ä§@«~¡C

µá²ú´¶µ·³Ð¥ß¤F¤@­Ó¥H¤k©Ê¬°¥DÅé¦W¬°¡u¤Í½Ë·|ªÀ¡v¡]The Society of Friendship¡^ªº¥b¤å¾Ç¹ÎÅé¡A¨C¤@¦¨­û¬Ò¦³¤@¥X¦Û¥j¨å¤å¾Çªºµ§¦W¡Cµá²ú´¶µ·¥H¡u¼ÚµY¹F¡v¡]Orinda¡^¦Û©~¡A¦o¦b¸Ö¸Ì¨C¨C¥Hµ§¦W«üºÙ¦Û¤v¥H¤Î¦oªº¤Í¤H¡C

µá²ú´¶µ·ªº¸Ö§@¦h¹F 260 ­º¡A¦b·í®Éµû»ù»á°ª¡A¦o¦]¦¹Àò±o¡uµLÂùªº¼ÚµY¹F¡vªº«Ê¸¹¡C¦oªº¸Ö§@¤º®e¦h¥b­z»¡¦o»P¤k©Ê¤Í¤H­ÌªºÃö«Y¡A³Q»{¬°¬O¬YºØ§Î¦¡ªº¤k©Ê¥D¸q»P¤k¦P©ÊÅʪº«eÅX¡C

µá²ú´¶µ·ªº¸Ö§@¦³¥b¼ÆÃDÄmµ¹¥»¦W¦w©g¡D¼Ú¤å¡]Anne Owen¡^ªºÅS¥d¦è¨È¡]¦o­ÌªºÃö«Yºû«ù¤F¤Q¦~¤§¤[¡^¡A¦¹³B©ÒĶªº¡q­P§Ú¨ô¶VªºÅS¥d¦è¨È¡A½Í§Ú­Ìªº¤Í½Ë¡r§Y¬O¤@¨Ò¡C¦b³o­º¸Ö¸Ì¡A§Ú­ÌŪ¨ì¤F¿@¯Pªº±¡·Pªí¹F¡Aªñ¥G§o³Ûªº±¡·R§i¥Õ¡A¬Ý¨ì¤F¥Rº¡Áô§t±¡¼¤ªº©x¯à©Ê¦r²´¡A¦ýµá²ú´¶µ·¤´±N¸Ö¤¤±¡·R©w¦ì¬°¬f©Ô¹Ï¦¡ªº·R±¡¡G¡u¼ÚµY¹F±q¨Ó¨S§ä¨ìÆF»î¡A¡þ¦b§ä¨ì§AªºÆF»î¤§«e¡v¡]But never had Orinda found¡þA soul till she found thine¡^¡C¾¨ºÞ¦p¦¹¡A¸Ö¤¤¶Ç»¼¥Xªº©Z²v¡B«i´±¡B¦Û¨­­Ñ¨¬ªº¦P©Ê·R«Å¨¥¡A¦b¤T¦Ê¦h¦~«áªº¤µ¤éÆ[¤§¡A¤´Ä±·sÂA°Ê¤H¡C³o­º¸Ö¤@­Ó¦³½ì³B¬O¡A­±¹ï¤k¤Í¡Aµá²ú´¶µ·¼ç·NÃѸ̦ü¥Gµø¦Û¤v¬°¨k©Ê¡G¦b²Ä¤­¸`¸Ö¸Ì¦o»¡¡u¥ô¦ó·s­¦©Î«Ò¤ýªºÅw´r¡þ³£µLªk¸ò§Úªº¬Û¤ñ¡v¡C

¡q§OÂ÷´Á¶¡­P M. A.¤Ò¤H¡r¤@¸Ö¼ÐÃD¥ç¥iĶ°µ¡q­P M. A.¤Ò¤H½Í§OÂ÷¡r¡A¬Oµá²ú´¶µ·ÃDÄmµ¹¥t¤@¦W¿Ë±K¤k¤Í¡X¡X³Q¦o¦b³\¦h¸Ö¸Ì¼ÊºÙ¬°¡uù²ï©g¨È¡v¡]Rosania¡^ªº M. A.¤Ò¤H¡]Mrs. Mary Aubrey Montagu¡^¤§§@¡A¼g©óµá²ú´¶µ·Â÷¶}­Û´°­u«Âº¸´µ´Á¶¡¡C¦b³o­º¸Ö¸Ì¡Aµá²ú´¶µ·¥H®É¦Óªñ¥G¦Û­h¡]²Ä¤@¡B¥|¸`¡^¡A¤S®É¦Ó¥ø¹Ï¥H²z©Ê»¡ªA¦Û¤v¡]²Ä¤G¡B¤T¸`¡^ªº¤f§k¡A±Ô»¡»P·R¤H§OÂ÷®Éªº¨­¤ß·Î¼õ¡A¥þ¸Ö´N¦b³o¼Ëªº¥Ù¬Þ±¡ºü¶¡Â\ÀúµÛ¡Cµá²ú´¶µ·¾Õªø¨Ï¥Î·N¶H¡A¨Ï¸Ö¤¤ªº±¡·PÅã±oÂרK¹¡º¡¡G¦b²Ä¤@¸Ö¸`¡A¦o±N¦Û¤v¤ñ³ë¦¨±q¡u³Q³v¥X¼Ö¶éªº¨È·í¡v¡]¤S¬O¨k©ÊÆ[ÂI¡I¡^¡F¦b²Ä¤G¸`¡A¦o±N§OÂ÷´Á¶¡ªº·R¤ñ³ë¦¨¡u³QÂê¤F°_¨Óªº¡vª÷¤l¡A¥Î³BºÉ¥¢¡F¦b²Ä¤T¸`¡A¦o¥Î¡u¥}¸T¡v¼g³Q«ä©À²o²Ì¤§¼~¶Ë¡F¦b³Ì«á¤@¸`¡A¦o»¡¦Û¤v¬O±I¹é¡u¥V¤é¡vªº¤Æ¨­¡A¨£¤£¨ì¤ß·Rªº¤H¡A¦o¥¢¥h¤F¥Í¦sªº¬¡¤O¡C³Ì«á¨â¦æ¬O¥þ¸Ö³Ì¦³½ìªº¦a¤è¡C¦b±Ç¤ß±ÇªÍ¶D»¡Â÷±¡¤§«á¡A³ºµM©ß¥X¤F¦Û¼É¦Û±óªº¦r¥y¡G¡u§O¦A·R§Ú¡A¦]¬°§Ú¤wÅܱo¡þ¦º®ð¨I¨I¡A¤£°t³Q§A¾Ö¦³¡v¡]Love me no more, for I am grown¡þToo dead and dull for thee to own.¡^¡CµM¦Ó¦Û¼¦¦Û¦ãªºªí¶H­I«á¡A¬yÅS¥Xªº«o¬O´X¤ÀÅQ®ðªº¼»¼b¤f§k¡AÅýŪªÌ¿Ë²´¥Ø¸@¤F¤@­p¡u¥H°h¬°¶i¡vªº¨D·R°ª©Û¡C¥u­n¬O·R±¡¡A¦P©Ê·R¤]¦n¡A²§©Ê·R¤]¦n¡A³£¬O­W¼Ö¥æ¿ù¡A¼~³ß°Ñ¥b¡A¤]¦]¦¹°ª¼é­¡°_¡A¦nÀ¸³s¥x¡C


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¥q°¨¯S¡]Christopher Smart, 1722-1771¡^

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The Author Apologizes to a Lady
for His Being a Little Man

Yes, contumelious fair, you scorn
The amorous dwarf that courts you to his arms,
But ere you leave him quite forlorn,
And to some youth gigantic yield your charms,
Hear him¡Xoh hear him, if you will not try,

And let your judgement check th¡¦ ambition of your eye.

 
Say, is it carnage makes the man?
Is to be monstrous really to be great?
Say, is it wise or just to scan
Your lover¡¦s worth by quantity or weight?
Ask your mamma and nurse, if it be so;
Nurse and mamma I ween shall jointly answer, no.

The less the body to the view,
The soul (like springs in closer durance pent)
Is all exertion, ever new,
Unceasing, unextinguished, and unspent;
Still pouring forth executive desire,
As bright, as brisk, and lasting, as the vestal fire.

Does thy young bosom pant for fame:
Would¡¦st thou be of posterity the toast?
The poets shall endure thy name,
Who magnitude of mind not body boast.
Laurels on bulky bards as rarely grow,
As on the sturdy oak the virtuous mistletoe.
 
Look in the glass, survey th
at cheek¡X
Where Flora has with all her roses blushed;
The shape so tender,¡Xlook so meek¡X
The breasts made to be pressed, not to be crushed¡X
Then turn to me,¡Xturn with obliging eyes,
Nor longer nature¡¦s works, in miniature, despise.

Young Ammon did the world subdue,
Yet had not more external man than I;
Ah! charmer, should I conquer you,
With him in fame, as well as size, I¡¦ll vie.
Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder grove,
Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.

          

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    ¥q°¨¯S¡]Christopher Smart¡A1722-1771¡^¡A­^°ê¸Ö¤H¡C¥Lªº¤÷¿Ë¡]´¿¥ô¶Q±ÚªººÞ®a¡^¦b¥L¤Q¤@·³®É¥h¥@¡C1739¦~¡A¥L¶i¤J¼C¾ô¤j¾Ç´NŪ¡A¥H³Ð§@©Ô¤B¤å¸Ö§@»D¦W¡A¨Ã©ó1745¦~Àò¿ï¬°¯S§O¬ã¨s­û¡C¤j¾Ç²¦·~«á¡A¥L©w©~­Û´°¡A¥H½s¿è¥Zª«¡B§ë½Z¡B¬°¼@³õ³Ð§@ºq¦±ºû¥Í¡C«á¨Ó¥L¬V¤W°sÅ}¡A¥[¤Wªá¶OµL«×¡A©ó1747¦~¦]¶Å°È¦Ó§¤¨c¡C1752¦~¥L¥Xª©²Ä¤@¥»¸Ö¶°¡m¦h­«³õ¦X¤§¸Ö¡n¡]Poems on Several Occasions¡^¡A¨Ã¥B°ù Anna Maria Carnan ¬°©d¡Cù°¨¸Ö¤H¶P·ç´µ¬O¥q°¨¯S¤ß»öªº§@®a¡A¹ï¥L¤é«áªº³Ð§@¥Í²P¼vÅT¬Æ¹d¡F1756¦~¡A¥q°¨¯S±N¶P·ç´µ§@«~Ķ¦¨­^¤å¡C

    1750¦~¥N¡A¥q°¨¯S³´¤J©v±Ð¨g¼ö¡AµL®ÉµL¨è¤£¶i¦æë§i¡C¬ù¿«¥Í´¿»¡¡G¡u§Ú¥i¼¦ªºªB¤Í¥q°¨¯S¦bµó¤W©M¨ä¥L©Ç²§ªº³õ©ÒÂù½¥¸÷¦a¬èë¡AÅ㨣¥L¤º¤ßÄ̶䣦w¡C¡v1756¦~¡A¥q°¨¯S¤@³õ¤j¯fªì¡¡AÀH§Y¥Xª©¡mµ¹¦Ü°ªµL¤W¥DªºÆgºq¡n¡]Hymn to the Supreme Being¡^¡C¤£¤[¡A¥L³Q°e¶i¸t¸ô§JÂå°|©Mªi¯SºÆ¤H°|¡Aª½¨ì1763¦~¤~¥X°|¡C¦b¦í°|Àø¾i´Á¶¡¡A¥L¼g¤U¡m¤j½Ã¤ý¤§ºq¡n¡qA Song to David¡r ¥H¤Î¡u½ü°ÛÆg¬ü¸Ö¡v§Î¦¡ªºªø½g¸Ö§@ Jubilate Agno¡X¡X¤â½Z©ó 1939¦~©l³Q¤Hµo²{ ¡A¦Ó¥H¡mÅw¼Ö¯Ì¦Ï¡GºÆ¤H°|¤§ºq¡n¡]Rejoice in the Lamb: A Song from Bedlam¡^¤§¦W¥Xª©¡C¥L¥Í«e³Ì«á¤­¦~³Q³h§x©M¤£Â_°ª¿vªº¶Å°ÈÄñ¨­¡F1770¦~¡A¥L¤S¦]¶Å°È¤Jº»¡A©ó²Ý¦~¦º©óº»¤¤¡C

    ¡m¤j½Ã¤ý¤§ºq¡n¬O¥q°¨¯S³ÌµÛ¦Wªº§@«~¡A³Q³\¦hµû½×®aµø¬°¥q°¨¯S³Ì¨ã­ì³Ð©Ê©M¶Ç¥@»ù­Èªº§@«~¡C¦b³o³¡§@«~¸Ì¡A¥Lºq¹|¡m¸Ö½g¡n¡qPsalms¡rªº§@ªÌ¤j½Ã¤ý¡A»¡¥L¬O¯«¸t¸Ö¤Hªº¨å«¬¥Nªí¡C¥¬®Ô¹ç¡]Browning¡^©M¸­·O¡]Yeats¡^µ¥¸Ö¤H´¿´£¹L¦¹§@«~¡A»{¬°¦bª«½è¤Æ¨ú¦V¤é¿@ªº¥@¬É¡A¥¦¥NªíµÛµo¦Û¤ßÆFªº«H©À¡C¦]¬°³o§@«~¹ïºë¯«¼h­±ªº±´¯Á¡A¥q°¨¯S¤]¦]¦¹³Q»{¬°¬O¹ï§JµÜº¸¡]John Clare¡^©M¥¬µÜ§J¡]Blake¡^µ¥¸Ö¤H¨ã¦³±Ò»X¤§¥\ªº¥ýÅX§@®a¡C

¡q¬°¨­§÷µu¤p¦V¬Y¤k¤hÅG¥Õ¡r¬O¤@­º¥ç²ø¥ç¿Óªº§®¸Ö¡C¸Ö¤H·Q¶Ç»¼¬O§Ú­Ì¼ôª¾ªº¡u¤Å¥H»ª¨ú¤H¡v©Î¡u¤º¦b¤ñ¥~¦b§ó­«­n¡v³oÃþ²z©À¡A¦ý¬O¥L¤£©I¤f¸¹¡A¦Ó¬O¥H¥Í°Ê¬¡¼â¡B¸Ù¿Ó¦³½ìªº¤è¦¡¦V¤ß»ö¤k¤lÅG¥Õ¡C¸Ö¤¤¤£¥F¥O¤Hµ´­Ëªº§®¥y¡AÄ´¦p¸Ö¤¤³o¦ì¦h±¡ªº¸G¤lºÙ¦Û¤v¬O¡u¨ãÅé¦Ó·Lªº¤j¦ÛµM¦¨«~¡v¡AÄ´¦p¥L¥Î¡u¨Å©Ð¬O¥Î¨Ó»´«ö¡A¤£¬O²rÀ£ªº¡v¡A¨Ó¤ÏÃÒ¦W¨­§÷¥¨¤j¤§µL¥Î¡C¸Ö¤Hªº»¡¸Ü»y®ð­è¬X¨ÃÀÙ¡A®É¦Ó°Ê¤§¥H±¡¡A®É¦Ó¶D¤§¥H²z¡A®É¦Ó¥H°Ý¥y©F©F¹G°Ý¹ï¤è¡A®É¦Ó³z¹LÄ´³ë¥h»¡ªA¹ï¤è¡F¥Lªº¥Îµü®É¦Ó²L¥Õ·d¯º¡B¸Ø¤j³y§@¡A®É¦Ó¸q¥¿ÃãÄY¡B¯u¸Û°Ê¤H¡C¾\Ū¦¹¸Ö¡A§Ú­Ì¬Ý¨ì¡u¤H¤p§Ó®ð°ª¡vªº¦Û«H¡A¡u¬°·R¶V¯Å¬D¾Ô¡vªº«i®ð¡A¥H¤Î¡u¥H¤º²[¨ú³Ó¡vªº´¼¼z¡A³o¹ï¥@¤W©Ò¦³­Ó¤l¸G¤pªº¨k¤h­ÌÀ³¸Ó¨ã¦³¤£¤pªº¿EÀy§@¥Î¡I

¥q°¨¯Sªº§@«~»á¬°¤G¤Q¥@¬ö¬Y¨Ç³Ð§@ªÌ©Ò¬Ý­«¡A­^°ê§@¦±®a¥¬·ç¹y¡]Britten¡^¡A¬ü°ê¸Ö¤Hª÷´µ³ù¡]Ginsberg¡^¬Ò¦b¨ä¦C¡C1943¦~¡A¥¬·ç¹y´¿±N¡mÅw¼Ö ¯Ì¦Ï¡n¤¤ªº¸ÖÃЦ¨¦±¡A¦@¤K­º¡]Op.30¡^¡C¤£ª¾¦pªG±N¡q¬°¨­§÷µu¤p¦V¬Y¤k¤hÅG¥Õ¡r¤@¸Ö¤J¼Ö¡A·|¬O¦ó¼Ë»ª¡H


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¤B¥§¥Í¡]Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809-1892¡^

¡÷  Æ[½à Roger Quilter ÃЦ±¡qµM«á²`¬õªºªáäºÎµÛ¤F¡rºt°Û¡G
Swingle Singers µL¦ñ«µ¦X°Û ¡þ¤k°ª­µ Felicity Lott  (1:43 ³B)  
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¡÷  Æ[½à Mychael Danna ÃЦ±¡qµM«á²`¬õªºªáäºÎµÛ¤F¡rºt°Û¡G
   
¥X¦Û¹q¼v¡m¯BµØ·s¥@¬É¡n(Vanity Fair)¡Aºt°Û¬° Custer LaRue   ¡õ

  

Now sleeps the crimson petal

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font;
The firefly wakens, waken thou with me.
 
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
 
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
 
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts, in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.


*  

In the Valley of Cauteretz 

All along the valley, stream that flashest white,
Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,
All along the valley, where thy waters flow,
I walked with one I loved two and thirty years ago.
All along the valley, while I walk today,
The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away;
For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed,
Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead,
And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree,
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
 

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¤B¥§¥Í¡]Alfred Lord Tennyson¡A1809-1892¡^¡A­^°ê®Û«a¸Ö¤H¡A1883 ¦~¨üºû¦h§Q¨È¤k¤ý¥U«Ê¬°¨kÀï¡A´X¥G¸g¾ú¾ã­Óºû¦h§Q¨È®É¥N¡A¬O¨ä¥Nªí©Ê§@®a¡C¦b¼C¾ô¤j¾Ç´NŪ®É¡A¥L¦³´X¶µ¿W¯S¨ÆÂÝ¡G¾i³D·íÃdª«¡A¦b¼g¸Ö¤ñÁɤ¤±o¼ú¡A¥¼¯à¨ú±o¾Ç¦ì¡C¦ý¬O¥L¦b³o¬q´Á¶¡©M¨È·æ¡D«¢ÂÅ¡]Arthur Hallam¡^©Ò«Ø¥ßªº±¡½Ë¡A¹ï¥Lªº¤@¥Í©M³Ð§@³£¨ã¦³²`»·¼vÅT¡C«¢ÂÅ©ó 1833 ¦~¬ðµM¤¤­·¥h¥@¡A¨Ï¤B¥§¥Í·P±¡¨ü¨ì­«³Ð¡F¥L¦b«á¨Óªº¤Q¦~¹LµÛÁô¹Pªº¥Í¬¡¡A¤@¤è­±«ä¯Á¦º¤`ªº²`¼h·N¸q¡A¤@¤è­±Æp¬ã¸ÖÃÀ¡A¸Õ¹Ï¥Î©âÂ÷¡B¶WµMªº¨¤«×¥h³B²z­Ó¤Hªº¼~¶Ë©M´÷±æ¡C1842 ¦~¥Lªº¡m¸Ö¶°¡n¥Xª©¡A¤j¦³¶i¨B¡A»áÀò¦nµû¡F1847 ¦~¡Aªø¸Ö¡m¤½¥D¡n¡]The Princess¡^¥Xª©¡AÁ¿­z¤@«h¥H³ß¼@¦¬³õªº®öº©·R±¡¬G¨Æ¡F1850 ¦~¡A«s±¥¼°¤Í«¢ÂÅ¡A±´°Q¤H¥Í¡B¤ßÆF©M©v±Ð½ÒÃD¡A§çµo­Ó¤H±¡«äªº»µºq¨t¦C¸Ö§@¡m±¥©À¶°¡n¡]In Memoriam¡^¥Xª©¡A³þ©w¤F¥L¦b¤å¾Âªº¦a¦ì¡C³o¤@¦~¡A¥L²×©ó¦pÄ@©M¬ÛÅʤQ¥|¦~ªº Emily Sellwood µ²±B¡C1855 ¦~¡A¹êÅç¦â±m¿@«pªºªø½g¿W¥Õ¸Ö¼@¡m²ö¼w¡n¡]Maud¡^¥Xª©¡A¤B¥§¥Í»¡³o¬O¡u¤p«¬ªº¡m«¢©i¹p¯S¡n¡v¡F1859 ¦~¨ì 1885 ¦~¶¡¡A¥L³°Äò§¹¦¨ªø¹F¤Q¤G¨÷ªº¥v¸Ö¹d§@¡m°ê¤ý¶c¨Æ¡n¡]Idylls of the King¡^¡A¬G¨Æ¨ú§÷©ó¨È·æ¤ý©M¥Lªº¶ê®àªZ¤h¡A¦ý¬O¤B¥§¥Í°£¤F±Ô¨Æ¡A¤]°¼­«¤ß²z¼h­±ªº´y¼g¡C

¦bºû¦h§Q¨È®É¥NªºÅªªÌ²´¤¤¡A¤B¥§¥Í¤£¶È¬O¤å¦r³Ð³yªÌ¡A§@­·¿W¯Sªº­Ó¤H¡A¤]¬O¹ï¬F§½¡B¥@¨Æ¾A®É´£¥X¬Ýªkªº´¼ªÌ¡C»®­E¾¤¡]T. H. Huxley¡^»{¬°¤B¥§¥Í¬O¤@¦W«ä·Q®a¡A²`¿Ú·í¥Nªº¬ì¾Çµo®i¤Î¨ä­l¥Í¥Xªº°ÝÃD¡C¥L¤ß«ä¿¦±K¡AµÛ­«ª¾©Ê«ä¦Ò¡A®É¶¡¹ï¤HÃþªº«Â¯Ù¡B¤HÃþ¦b¦a²y¤Wªº³B¹Ò¡B¤HÃþ»P¦ÛµM©M¤W«ÒªºÃö«Y¡A³£¬O¥LÃöª`ªº½ÒÃD¡C¥Lªº³\¦h¸Ö§@Áö¬Oª¾©Ê¨ú¦V¡A¦ý¥L¹ï­µÃý©M¸`«µªºÀç³y¤U¹L¤£¤Ö¥\¤Ò¡AµL©Ç¥G¶øµn¡]Auden¡^ºÙÆg¥L»¡¡G¡u¦b©Ò¦³­^°ê¸Ö¤H·í¤¤¡A¤B¥§¥Í¾Ö¦³³Ì¦nªº¦Õ¦·¡C¡v®ÔŪ¥Lªº¸Ö¡A¬O¤@ºØ­µÁn¥æÅTªº°Ê¤H¸gÅç¡A¤]¦]¦¹§@¦±®a­Ì«Ü³ßÅw±N¥Lªº¸ÖÃЦ¨­µ¼Ö¡C

¡qµM«á²`¬õªºªáäºÎµÛ¤F¡rÂ^¦Û¤B¥§¥Íªø¸Ö¡q¤½¥D¡r¡A­^°ê§@¦±®a«¶º¸¯S¡B¥¬§Q¹y¡A¬ü°ê§@¦±®aù­Û³£´¿±N¤§ÃЦ¨ºq¦±¡A¼s¨üÅwªï¡A«¶º¸¯S©Ò§@¤×¨ä°ÊÅ¥¡C´IÄR°Ê¤Hªº©Ê·R·N¶H¡A©Ü¤WÀRÁĦөx¯àªºÅ¥Ä±¡Bµøı»PIJıªº´yø¡A¨ã¦³¥O¤HÃø¥H§Ü©Úªº¶Ê¯v®ÄªG¡C¨C¤@¸Ö¸`³£¬O¤@­Ó³õ´ºªº§e²{¡A¬õªá¡B¥Õªá¡B¬f¾ð¡B¼Q¬u¡B³½¡B¿Ã¤õÂΡB¤Õ³¶¡B¤j¦a¡B¬y¬P¡B¦Ê¦X¡B´òªyµ¥½Ñ¦h¬üÄRªº·N¶H»´¬X¦a·Æ¹L²´«e¡A¬°¦¹¸ÖÀç³y¥X®öº©°ß¬üªº®ðª^¡C·í¶g¾D¸Uª«³£¦b¶Â©]ªºÅ]¤O¤UºÎµÛ¤F¡B·²®§¤F¡A·R¤H°Z¦³©Úµ´¹ï¤è¨D·Rªº²z¥Ñ¡H¸Ö¤¤¡uÀ¹¯Çº¬¡v¡]Danaë¡^¬°§Æþ¤½¥D¡A³Q¨ä¤÷©ë¸T©óÅK¶ð¤º¥H¨¾°l¨DªÌ±µªñ¡A¤£·N¤Ñ¯«©z´µ¤´¦¨¥\¦a¤Æ§@¤@°}ª÷«B¡A¿Ëªñ¤F¦o¡C

¡q¦b±F¯S·ç¯÷¤s¨¦¡r¬O¤B¥§¥Í¤­¤Q¤@·³¤§§@¡C±F¯S·ç¯÷¡]Cauteretz¡^¬O¦ì©óªk°ê¾a¦è¯Z¤úÃä¬É§È¨½¤û´µ¤s°Ïªº¬üÄR¤s¨¦¡A¤B¥§¥Í´¿©ó 1830 ¦~»P«¢ÂŦP¹C¦¹¦a¡F1861 ¦~  8 ¤ë¡A¤B¥§¥Í¦A¦¸³y³X¡A¼g¤U¤F³o­º¸Ö¡C¤B¥§¥Í¸@ª««ä¤H¡A²ÓÅ¥¤s¨¦¤¤ªº¤ô¬yÁn¡A¦^¾Ð°_³u¥hªº¤Í¤H¡A¸Ö¤H¹ïµÛ¤s¨¦»¡¡G¡u§A¬¡¥Í¥ÍªºÁn­µ©ó§Ú¦p¦ºªÌªºÁn­µ¡v¡F¦Ó³u¥hªº¤Í¤H¨Ã¥¼¯uªº®ø³u¡A¥LµL©Ò¤£¦b¡A©l²×¦b¸Ö¤H¤ß¤¤¬y°Ê¡A¸Ö¤H·QµÛ¤`¤Í»¡¡G¡u¦ºªÌªºÁn­µ©ó§Ú´¿¬O¬¡¥Í¥ÍªºÁn­µ¡v¡C³o¨â¥y°j±Û¦æ¶iªº¸Ö¥y©{¦p°j¿º¤s¨¦ªº¦^Án¡A¤ÏÂлwŪ¡A§Ú­Ì§Ï©»¸òµÛ¸Ö¤H¦^¨ì¤F±F¯S·ç¯÷¤s¨¦¡A·Pı¨ì¥Í»P¦º¡A²{¦b»P¹L¥h¦b¦¹¦³¤F¬ü¦nªº¥æ¶°¡C


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Heart! We will forget him!

  Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Copland ¦±

 Heart! We will forget him!
You and I¡Xtonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave¡X
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you¡¦re lagging
I remember him!

*

 The Soul selects her own Society
  Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

 The Soul selects her own Society¡X
Then¡Xshuts the Door¡X
To her divine Majority¡X
Present no more¡X

Unmoved¡Xshe notes the Chariots¡Xpausing¡X
At her low Gate¡X
Unmoved¡Xan Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat¡X

I¡¦ve known her¡Xfrom an ample nation¡X
Choose One¡X
Then¡Xclose the Valves of her attention¡X
Like Stone¡X


*


  
   Love¡Xthou art high 
 Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

Love¡Xthou art high¡X
I cannot climb thee¡X
But, were it Two¡X
Who know but we¡X
Taking turns¡Xat the Chimborazo¡X
Ducal¡Xat last¡Xstand up by thee¡X

 Love¡Xthou are deep¡X
I cannot cross thee¡X
But, were there Two
Instead of One¡X
Rower, and Yacht¡Xsome sovereign Summer¡X
Who knows¡Xbut we¡¦d reach the Sun?

Love¡Xthou are Veiled¡X
A few¡Xbehold thee¡X
Smile¡Xand alter¡Xand prattle¡Xand die¡X
Bliss¡Xwere an Oddity¡Xwithout thee¡X
Nicknamed by God¡X
Eternity¡X


*


 

Love¡¦s stricken

Love¡¦s stricken, ¡§why¡¨
Is all that love can speak¡X
Built of but just a syllable
The hugest hearts that break.
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*
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To lose thee¡X

 To lose thee¡Xsweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
¡¦Tis true the drought is destitute,
But then, I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea.
Without the sterile perquisite,
No Caspian could be
 

 *

  Wild nights!

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee, 
Wild nights should be 
Our luxury!   

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,¡X 
Done with the compass, 
Done with the chart.  

Rowing in Eden! 
Ah! the sea! 
Might I but moor 
To-night in thee!

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¨f½@»^¡]Emily Dickinson¡A1830-1886¡^¬O¬ü°ê¤k¸Ö¤H¡C¦o¤@¥Í´X¥G³£¦b³ÂÂĽѶë¦{¦wÀq´µ¯SÂí¡]Amherst¡^®a¤¤«×¹L¡A¦b¤k¤l¾Ç°|´NŪ¤@¦~«á¡A§Y¦]·Q®a©M°·±d°ÝÃD½ù¾Ç¡C¦b¦o¤­¤Q¤»¦~¥Í©R¤¤¡A³o¬qµu¼Èªº¨D¾Ç¥Í²P¡A¥H¤Î´X½ëªi¤h¹y¡B¶O«°¡BµØ²±¹y¤§¦æ¡A¬O¦o¶È¦³ªºÂ÷®a®É¨è¡CÀHµÛ¦~·³¤é¼W¡A¨f½@»^ªº¥Í¬¡§ó§ÎÁô¹P¡A´X¥G¨¬¤£¥X¤á¡G¦o¤£¦A¤W±Ð°ó¡A«Ý¦b©Ð¶¡¼g¸Öªº®É¶¡¶V¨Ó¶Vªø¡C¨f½@»^¦ü¥G¦w©ó³o¼Ëªº¥Í¬¡¡A¤]¦Û±o¨ä¼Ö¡C¦o´¿¦b¤@½gµu¤å¸Ì¼g¹D¡G¡u§Ú¦b¥Í¬¡¤¤§ä¨ì¨g³ß¡A¥ú¬O¬¡µÛªº·Pı´N¨¬¥HÅý¤HÅw³ß¡C¡v¦o¦º«á¡A®a¤H¨Ì¨ä§h©J±N¦o¸®©ó¦í®aµø½u½d³ò¤ºªº¹Ó¶é¡C

¨f½@»^¤@¦@¼g¤F 1775 ­º¸Ö¡A¦ý¥Í«e¥uµoªí¹L¤C­º¡C¦o¦º«á¡A®a¤H¦b»Õ¼Óµo²{¦oªº¸Ö½Z¡X¡X­Y¤z¥»¥Î°w½uÁ_¦Xªº¤p¥»¸Ö¥U¡C1890¦~¨ì¤G¤Q¥@¬ö¤¤¸­¡A¦oªº¿ËªB¦n¤Í³°Äò±N¨ä¸Öµ²¶°¦¨¥U¡A¥Xª©¤F¤E¥»¡A«o±N­Y¤z¸Ö§@§ï¼g©ÎÅܧó¼ÐÂI²Å¸¹¡C¤@ª½¨ì 1955 ¦~¡A¦oªº¸Ö¥þ¶°¡]¥Ñ T. H. Johnson ½s¿è¡^¤~±o¥H³Ì¨Î­±»ª°Ý¥@¡C

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¦b¡q¥¢¥h§A¡X¡X¡r¤@¸Ö¡A¦o¥H¶ê¿Äªº¨¤«×¬Ý«Ý¥Í©R¡C¦o«ÅºÙ¡u¥¢¥h¡v·R¤H¤ñ¡u±o¨ì¨ä¥L©Ò¦³¡v¦o»{ÃѪº¤H§ó¥O¦o´r®®¡A¦]¬°¦oª¾¹D¡G§Y«K¬ü¦n·R±¡ªº¸gÅçµLªkªø¤[¡A¡u¥¢¥h¡vªº¥t¤@­Ó©w¸q¥i¥H¬O¡u´¿¸g¾Ö¦³¡v¡]¡u°®§òÅý¤H³h½C¡A¡þ¦ý¡A§Ú¦³ÅS¯]¡v¡^¡A¦Ó¥Í©Rªº¥»½è¤§¤@§Y¬O¡u¯Ê¾Ñ¡v¡]¤@¦p¤Ö¤F¨F¤l¡A¡uùØ®ü´N¤£¦¨¬°ùØ®ü¡v¤F¡^¡C

¬ü°ê§@¦±®a¬_´¶Äõ¡]Copland¡^´¿ÃйL¡q¤ß°Ú¡A§Ú­Ì­n§Ñ¤F¥L¡r¡A¦¬¦b¨äºq¦±¶°¡m¤Q¤G­º¨f½@»^¸Ö¡n¡Cù­ÛÃйL¡q·R±¡¨ü¨ì¥´À»¤F¡r¡C¡q§Úªº¥Í©R¦bµ²§ô«e¡r«h¦³ Ernest Gold¡BEzra Laderman ¤§¦±¡C


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¸­·O¡]W. B. Yeats, 1865-1939¡^

When You Are Old
Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ   

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.
 
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He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Dunhill ¦±    Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Elwyn-Edwards ¦±

Had I the heavens¡¦ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

 

* 

 A Drinking Song

 Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That¡¦s all we know for truth
Before we grow and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh.


*
 

The Living Beauty

I bade, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, but when we have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than ¡¦twere an apparition. O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.


*
 
 

   Down by the Salley Gardens
  Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ        Å¥¦¹¸Öºt°Û / Britten ¦±

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. 

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
           


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²Ä¤­­º¡q¦b·¨¬h¶é¯`¡r§@©ó1889¦~¡A¸­·O¤G¤Q¥|·³®öº©­·®æµS¦b¤§§@¡A¬O¸­·O®Ú¾Ú¤@­º·Rº¸Äõ¥j¦Ñ¥Áºq´Ýµü­«²Õ¦Ó¦¨ªº¡A¥L¦Û·Rº¸Äõ¤@¶m¶¡¦Ñ°ü³BÅ¥¨ì°O¾Ð¤£¥þªº¤T¦æµü¡C§@¦±®a¥¬¦C¹y¡]Benjamin Britten¡A1913-1976¡^´¿¬°¦¹¸Ö©Ü¤W­µ¼Ö¡A±Û«ß¥ç¨Ó¦Û·Rº¸Äõ¶Ç²Î¥Áºq¡A¬y¶Ç»á¼s¡C

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¸­·Oªº¸Ö³QÃЦ¨ºqªÌ¬Æ¦h¡C¡q·í§A¦~¦Ñ¡r¦³ Frank Bridge¡BYehudi Wyner¡BGarth Baxter©Ò¼g¤§¦±¡C¡q¤Ñ°êªºº÷½v¡r¦³ T. F. Dunhill¡BDilys Elwyn-Edwards¡BIvor Gurney¡B¥Ë¬¥§J¡]Peter Warlock¡^¤Î¤k§@¦±®a Rebecca Clarke µ¥ªºª©¥»¡A¬Ò·¥°ÊÅ¥¡C


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Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour

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 Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.
 
This is, therefore, the intens
est rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:
 
Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.
 
Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.
 
Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

   

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     ¥v¸¦¤å´µ¡]Wallace Stevens, 1879-1955¡^¡A¬ü°ê¸Ö¤H¡C¨ü¨ì¤÷¿Ë¡]»«¤iºû¥§¨È¦{ªº«ß®v¡^ªº¼vÅT¡A¥L¶i«¢¦ò¤j¾Ç©M¯Ã¬ù¤j¾Çªk¾Ç°|´NŪ¡A¨Ã©ó1904¦~¦Ò¨ú«ß®v¸ê®æ¡C1916¦~¤§«e¡A¥L¦b¯Ã¬ù¥«¶}·~·í«ß®v¡A«á¨Ó¦b±d¤D¨f§J¦{ªº¤@®a«OÀI¤½¥q¤u§@¡A¨Ã©ó1934¦~·í¤W¸Ó¤½¥qªº°ÆÁ`µô¡C¦b«¢¦ò¤j¾Ç´Á¶¡¡A¥L­×¼w¤å©Mªk¤å¡Aµ²ÃÑ­õ¾Ç®a®á¶ð¨È¯Ç¡]George Santayana¡^¡A¨Ã¥B½s¿è¾Ç®Õ¤å¾Ç¥Zª«¡m¹ª§jªÌ¡n¡]The Advocate¡^¡C1914¦~¡A¥L¶}©lµoªí¸Ö§@¡F1923¦~¡A¥Xª©²Ä¤@¥»¸Ö¶°¡m®­·µ^¡n¡]Harmonium¡A1923¡^¡A·í®É¥L¤w¥|¤Q¤T·³¡C¤Q¤G¦~¤§«á¡A¥L¤~¥Xª©²Ä¤G¥»¸Ö¶°¡m¯´§ÇªºÆ[©À¡n¡]Ideas of Order¡^¡C¥v¸¦¤å´µ¤@¥Í¦@¥Xª©¤Q¤@¥»¸Ö¶°¡A¡m±aµÛÂŦâ¦N¥Lªº¨k¤l¡n¡]The Man with a Blue Guitar¡A1936¡^¡A¡m¹B©¹®L¤Ñ¡n¡]Transport to Summer¡A1947¡^¡A¥H¤Î³Ì«á¤@¥»¡m¬î¤§ÀÆ¥ú¡n¡]The Auroras of Autumn¡A1954¡^³£¬Oª¾¦Wªº§@«~¡C

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     ³o­º¸Ö¬Oªº¶D»¡¹ï¶H¤£¤@©w¬O¸Ö¤Hªº±¡¤H¡A¤]¤£¤@©w¯u¦³¨ä¤H¡A¸Û¦p¸ÖÃD¤¤¡u¤º¤ß±¡¤H¡v©Ò·t¥Üªº¡A¦o¥i¯à¬O¸Ö¤HµêÀÀªº²z·Q±¡¤H¡A¤]¥i¯à¬O¯à°÷²z¸Ñ¸Ö¤H©Ò¥ø¹Ï¶Ç»¼¥Xªº°T®§ªº¥ô¦óŪªÌ¡A¤]¥i¯à¬O¸Ö¤H¦Û¤v¡X¡X¦Û¤v»P¦Û¤vªº¬ù·|¡B¹ï¸Ü¡B§´¨ó¡B¥æ¦X¡C¥H¦¹Æ[¤§¡A¸Ö¤¤ªº¡u³Ì¼ö¯Pªº«Õ·|¡v¥i¯à¯uªºµo¥Í¹L¡A¦ý¤]¥i¯à¥u¦s¦b·Q¹³¤¤¡A¥i¯à¬OÅʤH­Ìªº¦×Å鱵IJ¡A¤]¥i¯à¬Oª¾¤vªÌ¤ßÆFªº¥æ¬y¡C¦b³o­º¸Ö¸Ì¡A¥v¸¦¤å´µ³o¦ìÅ]³N®vªº¹D¨ã¬Oºò»qµÛÅʤH­Ìªº¡u¤@±ø³ò¤y¡v¡C¤@¦p§Ú­Ì¦b¨ä¦W§@¡q²~¤§¶c¨Æ¡r¡]Anecdote of the Jar¡^¤@¸Ö¤¤Åª¨ìªº¡A¸Ö¤H§â¤@­Ó²~¤lÂ\¦b¥Ð¯Ç¦èªº¤s¤W¡A­â¶Ãªº¯î³¥¹y®É²£¥Í¯´§Ç¡F²{¦b¸Ö¤H±N¤@±ø³ò¤y©ñ¦b³h§xªº¥Í¬¡¡B©ñ¦b¦³´Ý¯Êªº²{¹ê¥@¬É¡A¥¦³ºµM¤Û¤Æ¦¨¡u¤@µ··Å·x¡v¡A¡u¤@¹D¥ú¡v¡A¡u¤@ÂI¤O¡v¡A¤@ºØ¡u¤£¥i«äijªº¼vÅT¡v¡C¤@¦pÃÀ³N¥i¥H²Î»â¦ÛµM¡A·Q¹³¥i¥H¤Þ»â§x¹y¡BÃkª¦©ó¤£§¹¬ü¹Ð¥@¤¤ªº§Ú­Ì¡AÂǵ۫H©À¤§¥ú¡]¡u¨ºÂI«G¶Â·tªº³Ì°ªªºÀë¤õ¡v¡^¡A¼ÈÂ÷¦a­±¡A¦b¨ÌµM·O´dªº¦t©z§ä¨ì·²®§ªºªÅ¶¡¡X¡X¡u§Ú­Ì´Ï¨­©ó©]ªÅ¤¤¡A¡þ¨º¨à¡A¯à«Ý¦b¤@°_´N¬Oº¡¨¬¡v¡C¡u¤H¥Í¦p±H¡v³o­Ó¦¨»y¡A¦b³o­º¸Ö¸Ì§ä¨ì³ÌÂ׬ü¡B³Ìµ½·Nªº ¸àÄÀ¡C

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     ³o¼ËÃm¹Fªº¥Í©RÆ[»P·R±¡Æ[¡A¨Ã¤£¬O¦~»´ÅʤH­Ì¥i¥H»´©öÆJ±oªº¡C¥v¸¦¤å´µ¼g³o­º¸Ö®É¦­¤w¹L¤Fª¾¤Ñ©R¤§¦~¡A³o¬O¤º¤ß±¡¤Hªº¡u³Ì«á¿W¥Õ¡v¡A°ß¦³¹¡Åª¹L¤H¥Íªº·É®á¡A°ß¦³¬Û«H¡u¤W«Ò©M·Q¹³¦X¦Ó¬°¤@¡v¡A¤~¯à¬°¦pÀ¸¡B¦p¹Úªº¤H¥Í¡A¼g¥X³o¼Ëªº³¬¹õ¥xµü¡A§i¶D©Ò¦³ ¥@¤H­Ì¡u·Q¹³ªº¥@¬É¤~¬O²×·¥ªºµ½¡v¡C    


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®­µ·ÂLº¸¡]Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933¡^

The Look

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon¡¦s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin¡¦s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin¡¦s eyes
Haunts me night and day.
¡@


*
 
 

I Am Not Yours
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I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love¡Xput out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.


*
 
 

After Love

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.
 
You were the wind and I the sea
¡X
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.

 
  

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     ®­µ·ÂLº¸¡]Sara Teasdale¡A1884-1933¡^¡A¬ü°ê¤k¸Ö¤H¡C®­µ·ÂLº¸¥X¥Í©ó±KĬ¨½¦{ªº¸t¸ô©ö«°¡A¦Û¤p¦¨ªø©ó¶Ç²Î«O¦u®a®x¡A¨ü¨ì¤÷¥À¹L«×ªº«OÅ@¡C¦o¥ý«á¶i¤J¬¥§J¥î¼w¤Ò¤H¾Ç®Õ¡]Mrs. Lockwood¡¦s School¡^©Mº¿ÄR¤j¾Ç¡]Mary Institute¡^´NŪ¡A1903 ¦~¡A²¦·~©óHosmer Hall¤k¤l¾Ç°|¡C¦o¦b¤j¾Ç®É´Á¶}©l¼g¸Ö¡A©ó 1907 ¦~µoªí­º½g¸Ö§@¡C1904 ¨ì 1907 ¦~¶¡¡A®­µ·ÂLº¸´¿©M¤@¸sªB¤Í³Ð¿ì¤F¤@¥÷»áÀò¦nµûªº¤å¾Ç¤ë¥Z¡m³³¦KªºÂà½ü¡n¡]The Potter¡¦s Wheel¡^¡C¦o¹CÂܼsÁï¡A¨Ã¦h¦¸«e©¹ªÛ¥[­ô¡A«á¨Ó¦¨¬°«¢ÄR¸­¡D©s­Y¡]Harriet Monroe¡^©Ò¿ì¡m¸Ö¥Z¡nªº¦¨­û¡Aµ²ÃѤ£¤Ö¸Ö¤H¡C¸Ö¤HªLÁÉ¡]Vachel Lindsay¡A1879-1931¡^¹ï¦o®i¶}¼ö¯P°l¨D¡A¦ý¦]¥L§@­·¦æ®|¹L©ó¨g³¥¤jÁx¡A®­µ·ÂLº¸³Ì«á©Úµ´¤F¥Lªº¨D·R¡C1914 ¦~¡A®­µ·ÂLº¸¶ùµ¹°Ó¤Hµáº¸¨¯®æ¡]Ernst Filsinger¡^¡C¤V¤Ò¹ï¦o¨þÅ@­¿¦Ü¡A¥i¬O¦o­Ó©Ê©t»÷¡A±¡ºü¤£Ã­¡A¦A¥[¤WÅé®z¦h¯f¡A©M¤V¤ÒÃö«Yº¥¦æº¥»·¡F1929 ¦~¡A¦o»P¤V¤ÒÂ÷±B¡C¤§«á¡A¦oÂ÷¸s¯Á©~¡A°·±dª¬ªp¤é¯q´c¤Æ¡A¨Ã±w¦³ºë¯«°I®z¯g¡C1933¦~¡A¦oªA¥Î¹L¶qªº¦w¯vÃÄ¡A¦º©ó¯Ã¬ù´J©Òªº¯D¬û¸Ì¡C

    ®­µ·ÂLº¸ªº²Ä¤@¥»¸Ö¶°¡mµ¹§ù´µªº¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö¤Î¨ä¥L¡n¡]Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems¡^©ó 1907 ¦~¥Xª©¡A¤§«á³°Äò¥Xª©¤F¡m©b¬y¤J®üªºªe¬y¡n¡]Rivers to the Sea¡A1915¡^¡A¡mÅʺq¡n¡]Love Songs¡A1917¡^¡A¡m¤õµK»P³±¼v¡n¡]Flame and Shadow¡A1920¡^¡A¡m¤ë«Gªº¶Â·t­±¡n¡]Dark of the Moon¡A1926¡^¡A©M¡m©_²§ªº³Ó§Q¡n¡]Strange Victory¡A1933¡^µ¥¸Ö¶°¡C1918 ¦~¡A¡mÅʺq¡n¬°¦oűo¬ü°ê¸Ö¨ó·|¦~«×¸Ö¤H¼ú¡A¥H¤Î­ô­Û¤ñ¨È¤j¾Ç¸Ö¨ó·|¼ú¡]³o¬O´¶¥ß¯÷¸Ö¼úªº«e¨­¡^¡C

    ·³¤ëªº®ø³u¡A·R±¡ªº³ß®®»P¤Û·À¡A©¹¨Æªº°l¾Ð¡A¤H¥Íªº©t±I¡A¦º¤`ªº¨I«ä¬O®­µ·ÂLº¸¸Ö§@¤¤±`¨£ªº¥DÃD¡C¦oªº§@«~±¡·P¸`¨î¡B§NÀR¡A»y½Õ·Å¬X¡B§t»W¡A¦ý¦o¥Î¦rºë½m¥B¾ÕªøÀç³y®ðª^¡A¦]¦¹¸Öªº±K«×»á°ª¡A¤Q¤À­@Ū¡C¦o¦b¼gµ¹¤@¦ì¤Í¤Hªº®Ñ«H¤¤´£¨ì¡G¸Ö¤HÀ³¸Ó³]ªk¨Ï¦Û¤vªº¸Ö§@¨ã¦³¤õµK¯ë¦w²»¡B±Ó±¶ªº¯S½è¡A¦p¦¹¤~¥iÅýŪªÌ¦b¾\Ū®É¤£°²«ä¯Á¦a¥ß§Y·P¨ü¡A¦Ó¦bŪ²¦¤§«á¤£Â_«ä¯Á¡C¦b¦¹³BĶªº¤T­º¸Ö·í¤¤¡A§Ú­Ì¥i¥H¬Ý¨ì¦o¦¹ºØ¸ÖÆ[ªº¹ê½î¡C

    ¡q¥Ø¥ú¡r¤@¸ÖÂI¥X¤T¬qÅʱ¡¡A¸Ö¤¤¤HÁö»P¥v±Z«Ê©Mù»«ªº·R±¡¶i®i¨ì¿Ë§kªº¦a¨B¡A¦ý³o¨Ç¿Ë§k³£¥¼¯àÅý¦o¦^¨ý¡F¬_ªL±q¨S§k¹L¦o¡A¦ý¬O¹ï¦o¦Ó¨¥¡A¥L²`±¡ªº¥Ø¥ú§Y¬O¤@ºØ¿Ë§k¡A¦Ó¥B¬O¤@ºØÅý¦o´Â«ä¼Ç·Qªº¿Ë§k¡C¦¹¸ÖÅý¤HÁp·Q°_ÀÙ·O¦b¡q§Æþ¥jÂ|¹|¡r²Ä¤G¸`ªº©Ò·t¥Üªº¡GÅ¥¤£¨ìªº¼ÖÁn¤Ï¦Ó§ó¬ü¡A°l¤£¨ìªºÅʤH¥Ã»·¬üÄR¡A±o¤£¨ìªº¿Ë§kÅý§A·R¤£¤î®§¡C¦s¦b©ó´÷±æªº¨Æª«¦pºK¤£¨ìªº¬P¬P¡A¥Ã»·Åý¤H¥õ±æ¡F¤@¥¹Àò±o¡A«KµLªk°k²æ¡uµLªk¥Ã«í¡vªº¦ÛµMªk«h¡C

    ¡q§Ú¤£ÄÝ©ó§A¡rªº«e¨â¸`¦ü¥G°{²{¤@µ·¤k©Ê¥DÅ骺¦Ûı¡G¦o¤£ÄÝ©ó·R¤H¡þ¨k¤H¡F¦o¬O¤@­Ó¦Û¨­­Ñ¨¬ªº­ÓÅé¡]¡u¡K¡K§Ú¬O§Ú¡A´÷±æ¡þ·»¥¢¦p¥ú·»¥¢©ó¥ú¡v¡^¡C¦ý³o¼Ëªº¦Ûı²¦³º¬O¯Ü®zªº¡A²×¨s¼Ä¤£¹L·R±¡ªºÅ]¤O¡G¬°¤F·R¡A¸Ö¤¤¤HÁÙ¬OÄ@·N¨õ·L¦a°µ­Ó¨S¦³¦Û§Ú·NÃѪº¤p¤k¤H¡A¦p¤@®Ú³Q¯e­·§jº¶¤õ­]ªº¤pÄúÀë¡C

    ¦b¡q·R¤§«á¡r¤@¸Ö¡A¸Ö¤H¥Î¡u¨k¤H¬O­·¦Ó¤k¤H¬O®ü¡vªº·N¶H¤ñ³ë·RÅʤ¤ªº¨â©ÊÃö«Y¡G­·©M®ü¥i¤@°_³Ð³y¥X³Ì§§Æ[«o¤]¥i¯à³Ì¦MÀIªº´º¶H¡]Ä´¦p·L­·§j®ü­±ªx°_º§º¬¡A¦Ó¨g­·«o·|±È°_¥¨®ö¡^¡A§Y«K¦³­·¼É¡A¤]¬O¦]·R¦Ó°_¡C¦o¥Î¡u®ü©¤Ã䪺¤@¼æ¤î¤ô¡v¤ñ³ë·R±¡®ø¥¢¤§«áªº¤ß¹Ò¡G·í¨â¤H¤£¦Aª§§n®É¡A¡uÁö¤£¸·­·¼É¤§®`¡þ ¦Ó¥B¤£¦A¨ü¼é¦Á¼vÅT¡v¡A¦ý³o¼Ëªº¥­ÀR¤ñ¬¤´éªºªiÀÜÁÙÅý¤Hµh­W¡A¦]¬°¨ºªí¥Ü·R±¡¦º¤`¤F¡C®­µ·ÂLº¸¥H²Hºzªº»y½Õ¹D¥X¹ï·R±¡¥»½èªº²`¨è²z¸Ñ¡A³oºÙ±o¤W¬O¤@­º¡uÁ|­«­Y»´¡vªº¦n¸Ö¡C


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What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
   Å¥¦¹¸Ö®ÔŪ

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in
the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.


*
 
 

I, Being Born a Woman

I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body¡¦s weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity,¡Xlet me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.


 
  
     

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014
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016
 
¥|¤ë¦b§Ú±¡¤HªºÁy¤W¡]April is in my mistress¡¦ face¡^
018
 
±áºq¡]Aubade
¡^
020
 ±¡ºq¡]Madrigal¡^
022
 
¦o¤@µ·¤£±¾½öª×§É¤W¡]She lay all naked in her bed¡^
026
 
¯f·½¡]Breeder¡^

¡@

´µ»«¶ë¡]Edmund Spenser¡A1552-1599¡^
030
 
§Úªº·R¤H¹³¦B¡A¦Ó§Ú¹³¤õ¡]My love is like to ice, and I to fire¡^
032
 
¦³¤@¤Ñ¡A§Ú§â¦oªº¦W¦r¼g¦b¨FÅy¡]One day I wrote her name upon the strand¡^

¡@

¤Ä¦N¤h¡]Arthur Gorges¡A1557-1625¡^
036
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040
¯h¾Îªº©]¡]Weary Nights¡^

¡@

§ù¹p¹y¡]Michael Drayton¡]1563-1631¡^
044
 
¤@¤Á¥u¦³¤£©M§Ú¡A¥H¤Î®@©M¤£¡H¡]Nothing but No and I, and I and No?¡^
046
 
¬JµM¨S¦³¿ìªk¤F¡A´NÅý§Ú­Ì§k§O¡]Since there¡¦s no help, come let us kiss and part¡^

¡@

²ï¤h¤ñ¨È¡]William Shakespeare¡A1564-1616¡^
050
 ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä18­º¡]Sonnet 18¡^
052
 
¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä71­º¡]Sonnet 71¡^
New!  ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä73­º¡]Sonnet 73¡^
054  ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä129­º¡]Sonnet 129¡^
New!  ¤Q¥|¦æ¸Ö²Ä130­º¡]Sonnet 130¡^
056
 ¾¾§Úªº·R¤H¡]O mistress mine¡^
058
 
¨º¬O¤@­Ó±¡¤H©M¥Lªº©h®Q¡]It was a lover and his lass¡^

¡@

«¸´Ë¡]Ben Jonson¡A1567-1637¡^
062
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066
 ¯}¾å¡]Break of Day¡^
068
 
·Rªº·Òª÷³N¡]Love¡¦s Alchemy¡^
072
 
¼v¤lªº¤@½Ò¡]A Lecture upon the Shadow¡^

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078
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080
 ¯üÄR¨Èªº¨ÅÀY¡]Upon the Nipples of Julia¡¦s Breast¡^
082
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084
 
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088
 
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092
 
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098
 
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102
 
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112
 
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116
 
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120
 
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126
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128
 ¤£­n¥ø¹Ï¶D»¡§Aªº·R¡]Never seek to tell thy love¡^

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132
 
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136
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138  ¤p³Á¥Ð¡]Corn Rigs¡^

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146
 
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150
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152
 
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154
 
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158
 
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160
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«k®Ô¹ç¤Ò¤H¡]Elizabeth Barrett Browning¡A1806-1861¡^
164
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166
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174
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176
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178
 
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182
 
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184
 
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  188
 
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190
 
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192
 
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196
 
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198
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204
 
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208
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210
 
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212
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214
 
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216
 
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220
 
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222
 
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224
 
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226
 
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230
 
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232
 
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234
 
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238
 
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240
 
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244
 
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246
 
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248
 
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250
 
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252
 
ªø¤[¨IÀq¤§«á¡]After Long Silence¡^

Áɪù´µ¡]
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256
 
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258  ¥Õ¦â¦V¤éªá¡]White Heliotrope¡^

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260
 §Ú¤w¤£´_¬O½å¨}ªºÁÉ®R©Ô²Îªv¤Uªº§Ú¤F¡]Non Sum Quails Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae¡^
266
 
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270
 
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®­µ·ÂLº¸¡]Sara Teasdale¡A1884-1933¡^
276
 
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278
 
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280
 
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284
 
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286
 
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288
 
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292
 
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294
 
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298
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