by Sidney Lanier

    Out of the hills of Habersham，

    Down the valleys of Hall，

    I hurry amain to reach the plain，

    Run the rapid and leap the fall，

    Split at the rock and together again，

    Accept my bed， or narrow or wide，

    And flee from folly¹ on every side

    With a lover's pain to attain² the plain

    Far from the hills of Habersham，

    Far from the valleys of Hall.

    All down the hills of Habersham，

    All through the valleys of Hall，

    The rushes cried 'Abide³， abide，'

    The willful waterweeds held me thrall⁴，

    The laving laurel turned my tide，

    The ferns and the fondling grass said 'Stay，'

    The dewberry dipped for to work delay，

    And the little reeds sighed 'Abide， abide，

    Here in the hills of Habersham，

    Here in the valleys of Hall.'

    High o'er the hills of Habersham，

    Veiling the valleys of Hall，

    The hickory told me manifold

    Fair tales of shade， the poplar tall

    Wrought⁵ me her shadowy self to hold，

    The chestnut⁶， the oak， the walnut⁷， the pine，

    Overleaning， with flickering⁸ meaning and sign，

    Said， 'Pass not， so cold， these manifold

    Deep shades of the hills of Habersham，

    These glades⁹ in the valleys of Hall.'

    And oft in the hills of Habersham，

    And oft in the valleys of Hall，

    The white quartz¹⁰ shone， and the smooth brook-stone

    Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl¹¹，

    And many a luminous¹² jewel lone¹³

    —— Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist，

    Ruby¹⁴， garnet and amethyst¹⁵ ——

    Made lures¹⁶ with the lights of streaming stone

    In the clefts¹⁷ of the hills of Habersham，

    In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

    But oh， not the hills of Habersham，

    And oh， not the valleys of Hall

    Avail： I am fain for to water the plain.

    Downward the voices of Duty call ——

    Downward， to toil¹⁸ and be mixed with the main，

    The dry fields burn， and the mills are to turn，

    And a myriad¹⁹ flowers mortally yearn²⁰，

    And the lordly main from beyond the plain

    Calls o'er the hills of Habersham，

    Calls through the valleys of Hall.

上一篇：the sonnet-ballad 下一篇：The Song of Despair