抄錄這些東西的同時, 是我稍微可以找到一點安靜心靈的時候. 這又可以維持多久.
1. ---------------------------------------------------
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near.
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bell a little shake
To ask if there is a some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
2. ------------------------------------------------------
A dream within a dream
by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the soar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O, God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
3 -------------------------------------------------------------
The friend: a novel
by Sigrid Nunez
...I see the sun has knocked you out. But let's not overdo it, eh. It's supposed to go up to ninety today. Maybe I should get you some water. And while I'm at it, a nice tall glass of iced tea for myself.
Oh, look at that. Butterflies. A whole swarm of them, fleeting like a small white cloud across the lawn. I don't think I've ever see so many flying together like that, though it's not uncommon to see them in pairs. Cabbage whites, I think too far to tell if there are black dots on the wings.
They should watch out for you, o, eater of insects. Once snap of those jaws would take out most of them. There they go, head right for you, as if you no more than a giant rock lying on the grass. They shower you like confetti; and you --------- not a twitch!
Oh, what a sound. What could that gull have seen to make it cry out like that? The butterflies are in air again, moving off, in the direction of the shore.
I want to call your name, but the word dies in my throat. Oh, my friend, my friend.
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Hope(is the thing with Feathers)
by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me.
5 ---------------------------------------------------------------------
東村
陸游
雨霽山爭出，泥乾路漸通。
稍從牛屋後，卻過鸛巢東。
決決沙溝水，翻翻麥野風。
欲歸還小立，為愛夕陽紅。
6 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The friend: a novel
by Sigrid Nunez
I knew a cat whose owner had to give it up when her son became allergic to cat scurf. The was passed on from household to household (mine was one of them) while a permanent home was sought. It survived 2 or 3 moves alright, but one more move and it was no longer the same creature. It was a mess - a mess no one was willing to live with and so the original owner had it put down.
They don't commit suicide. They don't weep. But they can and do fall to pieces. They can and do have their hearts broken. They can and do lose their minds.