天使之梦

I

I wonder if I know him

In whose speech is my voice,

In whose movement is my being,

Whose skill is in my lines,

Whose melody is in my songs

In joy and sorrow.

I thought he was chained within me,

Contained by tears and laughter,

Work and play.

I thought he was my very self

Coming to an end with my death.

Why then in a flood of joy do I feel him

In the sight and touch of my beloved?

This 'I' beyond self I found

On the shores of the shining sea.

Therefore I know

This'I' is not imprisoned within my bounds.

Losing myself, I find him

Beyond the borders of time and space.

Through the Ages

I come to know his Shining Self

In the Iffe of the seeker,

In the voice of the poet.

From the dark clouds pour the rains.

I sit and think:

Bearing so many forms, so many names,

I come down, crossing the threshold

Of countless births and deaths.

The Supreme undivided, complete in himself,

Embracing past and present,

Dwells in Man.

Within Him I shall find myself -

The 'I' that reaches everywhere.



- Rabindranath Tagore

天使之梦

<TABLE cellPadding=15 border=1 <TR><TBODY><TR><TD width=430 bgcolor=#ffffff>Today I Plant A Rose
<HR>
Flickering sunlight
glances
silver trees
soft scented breeze
of lilac fills warm air
still
today
I dig
d
e
e
p <TR><TD>

deeper
to plant the rose

roots need be steady
for this bleeding heart rose so fair

secure the stalk
so it may live
to last through memories

there will
be no hybrids in this garden’s heart
only sweet scented reality
and
if I prick the finger
and red does flow
at least I know
life was real my spade cuts deep
to secure truthful passion.

</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>

天使之梦

When You Are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)