2019年12月26日 星期四

PRAISE OF MY LADY inThe Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, by William Morris

未提供相片說明。







The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, by 
William Morris

http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/22650/pg22650.txt



 



PRAISE OF MY LADY


    My lady seems of ivory
    Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be
    Hollow'd a little mournfully.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Her forehead, overshadow'd much
    By bows of hair, has a wave such
    As God was good to make for me.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Not greatly long my lady's hair,
    Nor yet with yellow colour fair,
    But thick and crispèd wonderfully:
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Heavy to make the pale face sad,
    And dark, but dead as though it had
    Been forged by God most wonderfully
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Of some strange metal, thread by thread,
    To stand out from my lady's head,
    Not moving much to tangle me.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.
    The lashes a clear shadow throw
    Where I would wish my lips to be.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Her great eyes, standing far apart,
    Draw up some memory from her heart,
    And gaze out very mournfully;
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    So beautiful and kind they are,
    But most times looking out afar,
    Waiting for something, not for me.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    I wonder if the lashes long
    Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,
    For always half tears seem to be
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Lurking below the underlid,
    Darkening the place where they lie hid:
    If they should rise and flow for me!
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Her full lips being made to kiss,
    Curl'd up and pensive each one is;
    This makes me faint to stand and see.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Her lips are not contented now,
    Because the hours pass so slow
    Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?
    But this at least I know full well,
    Her lips are parted longingly,
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    So passionate and swift to move,
    To pluck at any flying love,
    That I grow faint to stand and see.
                  _Beata mea Domina_!

    Yea! there beneath them is her chin,
    So fine and round, it were a sin
    To feel no weaker when I see
                  _Beata mea Domina_!

    God's dealings; for with so much care
    And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,
    He finishes her face for me.
                  _Beata mea Domina_!

    Of her long neck what shall I say?
    What things about her body's sway,
    Like a knight's pennon or slim tree
                  _Beata mea Domina_!

    Set gently waving in the wind;
    Or her long hands that I may find
    On some day sweet to move o'er me?
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    God pity me though, if I miss'd
    The telling, how along her wrist
    The veins creep, dying languidly
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    Inside her tender palm and thin.
    Now give me pardon, dear, wherein
    My voice is weak and vexes thee.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    All men that see her any time,
    I charge you straightly in this rhyme,
    What, and wherever you may be,
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

    To kneel before her; as for me,
    I choke and grow quite faint to see
    My lady moving graciously.
                  _Beata mea Domina!_

沒有留言: