To W. E. Henley.
From Underwoods
Robert Louis Stevenson
The year runs through her phases; rain and sun,
Springtime and summer pass; winter succeeds;
But one pale season rules the house of death.
Cold falls the imprisoned daylight; fell disease
By each lean pallet squats, and pain and sleep
Toss gaping on the pillows.
一年は、彼女の状態によって走って行く。雨天でも晴天でも、
若枝の頃も夏も往き、冬が続く。
しかし或る青褪めた季節だけが死の家を支配する。
冷気が閉じ込められた日光を弱め、病気に龍われた。
それぞれの貪しい藁（わら）の寝床で蹲り、悲しみ、眠り
枕の上で欠伸をしながら寝返りを打つ
But O thou!
Uprise and take thy pipe. Bid music flow,
Strains by good thoughts attended, like the spring
The swallows follow over land and sea.
Pain sleeps at once; at once, with open eyes,
Dozing despair awakes. The shepherd sees
His flock come bleating home; the seaman hears
Once more the cordage rattle. Airs of home!
Youth, love and roses blossom; the gaunt ward
Dislimns and disappears, and, opening out,
Shows brooks and forests, and the blue beyond
Of mountains.
Small the pipe; but O! do thou,
Peak-faced and suffering piper, blow therein
The dirge of heroes dead; and to these sick,
These dying, sound the triumph over death.
Behold! each greatly breathes; each tastes a joy
Unknown before, in dying; for each knows
A hero dies with him -- though unfulfilled
Yet conquering truly -- and not dies in vain.
So is pain cheered, death comforted; the house
Of sorrows smiles to listen. Once again --
O thou, Orpheus and Heracles, the bard
And deliverer, touch the stops again!
22:54 2016/03/15火
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