BRUMANA

Oh shall I never never be home again?

Meadows of England shining in the rain

Spread wide your daisied lawns: your ramparts green

With briar fortify, with blossom screen

Till my far morning--and O streams that slow

And pure and deep through plains and playlands go,

For me your love and all your kingcups store,

And--dark militia of the southern shore,

Old fragrant friends--preserve me the last lines

Of that long saga which you sung me, pines,

When, lonely boy, beneath the chosen tree

I listened, with my eyes upon the sea.

O traitor pines, you sang what life has found

The falsest of fair tales.

Earth blew a far-horn prelude all around,

That native music of her forest home,

While from the sea's blue fields and syren dales

Shadows and light noon-spectres of the foam

Riding the summer gales

On aery viols plucked an idle sound.

Hearing you sing, O trees,

Hearing you murmur, "There are older seas,

That beat on vaster sands,

Where the wise snailfish move their pearly towers

To carven rocks and sculptured promont'ries,"

Hearing you whisper, "Lands

Where blaze the unimaginable flowers."

Beneath me in the valley waves the palm,

Beneath, beyond the valley, breaks the sea;

Beneath me sleep in mist and light and calm

Cities of Lebanon, dream-shadow-dim,

Where Kings of Tyre and Kings of Tyre did rule

In ancient days in endless dynasty,

And all around the snowy mountains swim

Like mighty swans afloat in heaven's pool.

But I will walk upon the wooded hill

Where stands a grove, O pines, of sister pines,

And when the downy twilight droops her wing

And no sea glimmers and no mountain shines

My heart shall listen still.

For pines are gossip pines the wide world through

And full of runic tales to sigh or sing.

'Tis ever sweet through pine to see the sky

Mantling a deeper gold or darker blue.

'Tis ever sweet to lie

On the dry carpet of the needles brown,

And though the fanciful green lizard stir

And windy odours light as thistledown

Breathe from the lavdanon and lavender,

Half to forget the wandering and pain,

Half to remember days that have gone by,

And dream and dream that I am home again!

Selections from modern poets · 第 103 / 254 题