The Good Book_ A Secular Bible - A. C. Grayling [90]
62
This isolated hilltop has been dear to me always.
And this hedge also, that draws a line under the sky.
Sitting, looking, I wonder idly
What is beyond the horizon: and I imagine
Great silences, infinite spaces,
Unearthly stillness. Then for a while I am not afraid.
I hear the wind breathing in the trees,
And it is the voice of that distance,
Calling to mind the idea of time without time,
The dead ages past and mute,
The unbounded present ever arriving
With tumult and noise. My thoughts
Founder in those immensities;
And it is sweet to sink and drown in them.
63
The days of my youth are long over,
Now the days of my prime dwindle in their turn.
With what sad regrets I walk again
In this cold deserted place!
In the middle of the garden I stand alone,
The moonlight blanching the paths,
The wind cold and damp, leaving frosted dews
On the autumn lettuce, tangled and gone to seed.
The orchard trees are withered too;
All that is left are chrysanthemums
Newly opened under the wattle fence.
I had brought wine and a cup, and meant to drink;
But the sight of these stayed my hand.
I remember how quickly my moods could change
From sad to gay when I was young;
If I had wine, no matter what season:
Even before I tasted it my heart grew glad.
But now that age approaches, moments of gladness
Are harder and harder to get. I fear that when I am old
Not even the fiercest liquor will comfort me.
Therefore I ask you, chrysanthemums, why you bloom so late:
Though I know well that it is not for my sake. Yet,
Reminded by you, I will forget age and sorrow for this while,
And drink a cup to you.
64
What can this mean? What a strange new life!
What could disturb you so? I no longer know you,
Heart, now that you are overtaken like this,
Old loves, old griefs forgotten, new turbulence instead:
Are you caught by the beautiful youth whose eyes,
Shining at you, prevent you from running away,
Even though you cry out: Let me go! Let me go!
It is the thread which cannot be untied that leads you back,
Every path leads back, you are held fast: what a change!
How old must you grow before this kind of enchantment
No longer catches you, but leaves you free?
65
Come to the dance with me, fair one, come:
The dance crowns the feast day when evening falls.
If you are not my love, yet still you can be,
And if you will be, come, dance with me.
Without you what would a feast day be?
If you love me, all life is feasting:
Without you what would a dance be?
Come dance with me;
Let us spin in the dance, let us steal dizzied away
To whisper in the evening woods:
Come love, dance with me,
Come crown the feast with dance, and love.
66
You see how the high hills stand out white with snow,
And the struggling trees can scarcely bear the load
Of deep drifts on their branches. The river
Is frozen with sharp ice, even the air cracks with cold.
Pile on the logs, build the fire higher,
Bring out the two-handled jug:
Leave everything to its own devices,
The razor-edged wind fighting the heaving sea,
The trees shaking and snapping under their glittering burden;
Do not ask about tomorrow, but count the time as profit,
And give your thoughts to youth’s enjoyments:
The dances in the square, the laughter of a girl
Hiding in a secret corner, which gives her away:
And a pledge snatched from her willing fingers
Which pretend reluctance, but brush your fingers with fire
When they touch.
67
The man caught in the open sea longs for calm.
He is filled with fear when a cloud obscures the moon,
And the stars’ sure gleam is lost to view.
Why ambition, when life is so short?
Why trade peace of mind for these ventures,
Our homes for other suns, our rest for arduous strife?
Spoiling care climbs the bronze side of ships,
It hunts the cavalry, swifter than stags
Or the east wind that hurries the clouds before it:
Every hero fell at the throw of its quivering lance.
It is like the bolt of lightning that splits the oak,
And sets the forests to raging fire in summer’s drought.
None escapes