優(yōu)美詩(shī)歌閱讀：Pickthorn Manor

　　下面是學(xué)習(xí)啦小編為大家?guī)?lái)艾米·洛威爾的經(jīng)典詩(shī)歌：Pickthorn Manor，希望大家喜歡!

　　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.