To Will. H. Low.
From Underwoods
Robert Louis Stevenson
Youth now flees on feathered foot.
Faint and fainter sounds the flute,
Rarer songs of gods; and still
Somewhere on the sunny hill,
Or along the winding stream,
Through the willows, flits a dream;
Flits, but shows a smiling face,
Flees, but with so quaint a grace,
None can choose to stay at home,
All must follow, all must roam.
青春は、真（まこと）に、羽を付けたような足取りで過ぎ去る
幽（かそけ）き尚更幽（かそけ）きフル―トゥを吹くがいい
神々の稀な楽の音
そして今も陽のよく当たる丘のどこかで
戓いは曲がりくねった流れに沿って
柳の木立ちを抜けて夢のように過ぎ去る
過ぎ去るがいい、しかし笑顔を見せて
消え失せるがいい、しかし実に味な恩恵と共に
誰一人寛（くつろ）いで立ち止まる事を選べない
皆従うしかない、皆彷徨うしかない
This is unborn beauty: she
Now in air floats high and free,
Takes the sun and breaks the blue; --
Late with stooping pinion flew
Raking hedgerow trees, and wet
Her wing in silver streams, and set
Shining foot on temple roof:
Now again she flies aloof,
Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't
By the evening's amethyst.
In wet wood and miry lane,
Still we pant and pound in vain;
Still with leaden foot we chace
Waning pinion, fainting face;
Still with grey hair we stumble on,
Till, behold, the vision gone!
Where hath fleeting beauty led?
To the doorway of the dead.
Life is over, life was gay:
We have come the primrose way.
23:18 2016/02/09火曜日
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