《Malade》 - 免费有声读物

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SOMEWHERE the long mellow note of the blackbird
     Quickens the unclasping hands of hazel,
     Somewhere the wind-flowers fling their heads back,
     Stirred by an impetuous wind. Some ways'll
     All be sweet with white and blue violet.
         (Hush now, hush. Where am I?—Biuret—)

     On the green wood's edge a shy girl hovers
     From out of the hazel-screen on to the grass,
     Where wheeling and screaming the petulant plovers
     Wave frighted. Who comes? A labourer, alas!
     Oh the sunset swims in her eyes' swift pool.
         (Work, work, you fool—!)

     Somewhere the lamp hanging low from the ceiling
     Lights the soft hair of a girl as she reads,
     And the red firelight steadily wheeling
     Weaves the hard hands of my friend in sleep.
     And the white dog snuffs the warmth, appealing
     For the man to heed lest the girl shall weep.

     (Tears and dreams for them; for me
     Bitter science—the exams. are near.
     I wish I bore it more patiently.
     I wish you did not wait, my dear,
     For me to come: since work I must:
     Though it's all the same when we are dead.—
     I wish I was only a bust,
           All head.)