the man against the sky- 第8部分

If　he　go　on　too　far　to　find　a　grave；

Mostly　alone　he　goes。



Even　he；　who　stood　where　I　had　found　him；

On　high　with　fire　all　round　him；　

Who　moved　along　the　molten　west；

And　over　the　round　hill's　crest

That　seemed　half　ready　with　him　to　go　down；

Flame…bitten　and　flame…cleft；　

As　if　there　were　to　be　no　last　thing　left

Of　a　nameless　unimaginable　town；　

Even　he　who　climbed　and　vanished　may　have　taken

Down　to　the　perils　of　a　depth　not　known；

From　death　defended　though　by　men　forsaken；

The　bread　that　every　man　must　eat　alone；

He　may　have　walked　while　others　hardly　dared

Look　on　to　see　him　stand　where　many　fell；

And　upward　out　of　that；　as　out　of　hell；

He　may　have　sung　and　striven

To　mount　where　more　of　him　shall　yet　be　given；

Bereft　of　all　retreat；

To　sevenfold　heat；　

As　on　a　day　when　three　in　Dura　shared

The　furnace；　and　were　spared

For　glory　by　that　king　of　Babylon

Who　made　himself　so　great　that　God；　who　heard；

Covered　him　with　long　feathers；　like　a　bird。



Again；　he　may　have　gone　down　easily；

By　comfortable　altitudes；　and　found；

As　always；　underneath　him　solid　ground

Whereon　to　be　sufficient　and　to　stand

Possessed　already　of　the　promised　land；

Far　stretched　and　fair　to　see：

A　good　sight；　verily；

And　one　to　make　the　eyes　of　her　who　bore　him

Shine　glad　with　hidden　tears。

Why　question　of　his　ease　of　who　before　him；

In　one　place　or　another　where　they　left

Their　names　as　far　behind　them　as　their　bones；

And　yet　by　dint　of　slaughter　toil　and　theft；

And　shrewdly　sharpened　stones；

Carved　hard　the　way　for　his　ascendency

Through　deserts　of　lost　years？

Why　trouble　him　now　who　sees　and　hears

No　more　than　what　his　innocence　requires；

And　therefore　to　no　other　height　aspires

Than　one　at　which　he　neither　quails　nor　tires？

He　may　do　more　by　seeing　what　he　sees

Than　others　eager　for　iniquities；

He　may；　by　seeing　all　things　for　the　best；

Incite　futurity　to　do　the　rest。



Or　with　an　even　likelihood；

He　may　have　met　with　atrabilious　eyes

The　fires　of　time　on　equal　terms　and　passed

Indifferently　down；　until　at　last

His　only　kind　of　grandeur　would　have　been；

Apparently；　in　being　seen。

He　may　have　had　for　evil　or　for　good

No　argument；　he　may　have　had　no　care

For　what　without　himself　went　anywhere

To　failure　or　to　glory；　and　least　of　all

For　such　a　stale；　flamboyant　miracle；

He　may　have　been　the　prophet　of　an　art

Immovable　to　old　idolatries；

He　may　have　been　a　player　without　a　part；

Annoyed　that　even　the　sun　should　have　the　skies

For　such　a　flaming　way　to　advertise；

He　may　have　been　a　painter　sick　at　heart

With　Nature's　toiling　for　a　new　surprise；

He　may　have　been　a　cynic；　who　now；　for　all

Of　anything　divine　that　his　effete

Negation　may　have　tasted；

Saw　truth　in　his　own　image；　rather　small；

Forbore　to　fever　the　ephemeral；

Found　any　barren　height　a　good　retreat

From　any　swarming　street；

And　in　the　sun　saw　power　superbly　wasted；

And　when　the　primitive　old…fashioned　stars

Came　out　again　to　shine　on　joys　and　wars

More　primitive；　and　all　arrayed　for　doom；

He　may　have　proved　a　world　a　sorry　thing

In　his　imagining；

And　life　a　lighted　highway　to　the　tomb。



Or；　mounting　with　infirm　unsearching　tread；

His　hopes　to　chaos　led；

He　may　have　stumbled　up　there　from　the　past；

And　with　an　aching　strangeness　viewed　the　last

Abysmal　conflagration　of　his　dreams；　

A　flame　where　nothing　seems

To　burn　but　flame　itself；　by　nothing　fed；

And　while　it　all　went　out；

Not　even　the　faint　anodyne　of　doubt

May　then　have　eased　a　painful　going　down

From　pictured　heights　of　power　and　lost　renown；

Revealed　at　length　to　his　outlived　endeavor

Remote　and　unapproachable　forever；

And　at　his　heart　there　may　have　gnawed

Sick　memories　of　a　dead　faith　foiled　and　flawed

And　long　dishonored　by　the　living　death

Assigned　alike　by　chance

To　brutes　and　hierophants；

And　anguish　fallen　on　those　he　loved　around　him

May　once　have　dealt　the　last　blow　to　confound　him；

And　so　have　left　him　as　death　leaves　a　child；

Who　sees　it　all　too　near；

And　he　who　knows　no　young　way　to　forget

May　struggle　to　the　tomb　unreconciled。

Whatever　suns　may　rise　or　set

There　may　be　nothing　kinder　for　him　here

Than　shafts　and　agonies；

And　under　these

He　may　cry　out　and　stay　on　horribly；

Or；　seeing　in　death　too　small　a　thing　to　fear；

He　may　go　forward　like　a　stoic　Roman

Where　pangs　and　terrors　in　his　pathway　lie；　

Or；　seizing　the　swift　logic　of　a　woman；

Curse　God　and　die。



Or　maybe　there；　like　many　another　one

Who　might　have　stood　aloft　and　looked　ahead；

Black…drawn　against　wild　red；

He　may　have　built；　unawed　by　fiery　gules

That　in　him　no　commotion　stirred；

A　living　reason　out　of　molecules

Why　molecules　occurred；

And　one　for　smiling　when　he　might　have　sighed

Had　he　seen　far　enough；

And　in　the　same　inevitable　stuff

Discovered　an　odd　reason　too　for　pride

In　being　what　he　must　have　been　by　laws

Infrangible　and　for　no　kind　of　cause。

Deterred　by　no　confusion　or　surprise

He　may　have　seen　with　his　mechanic　eyes

A　world　without　a　meaning；　and　had　room；

Alone　amid　magnificence　and　doom；

To　build　himself　an　airy　monument

That　should；　or　fail　him　in　his　vague　intent；

Outlast　an　accidental　universe　

To　call　it　nothing　worse　

Or；　by　the　burrowing　guile

Of　Time　disintegrated　and　effaced；

Like　once…remembered　mighty　trees　go　down

To　ruin；　of　which　by　man　may　now　be　traced

No　part　sufficient　even　to　be　rotten；

And　in　the　book　of　things　that　are　forgotten

Is　entered　as　a　thing　not　quite　worth　while。

He　may　have　been　so　great

That　satraps　would　have　shivered　at　his　frown；

And　all　he　prized　alive　may　rule　a　state

No　larger　than　a　grave　that　holds　a　clown；

He　may　have　been　a　master　of　his　fate；

And　of　his　atoms；　　ready　as　another

In　his　emergence　to　exonerate

His　father　and　his　mother；

He　may　have　been　a　captain　of　a　host；

Self…eloquent　and　ripe　for　prodigies；

Doomed　here　to　swell　by　dangerous　degrees；

And　then　give　up　the　ghost。

Nahum's　great　grasshoppers　were　such　as　these；

Sun…scattered　and　soon　lost。



Whatever　the　dark　road　he　may　have　taken；

This　man　who　stood　on　high

And　faced　alone　the　sky；

Whatever　drove　or　lured　or　guided　him；　

A　vision　answering　a　faith　unshaken；

An　easy　trust　assumed　of　easy　trials；

A　sick　negation　born　of　weak　denials；

A　crazed　abhorrence　of　an　old　condition；

A　blind　attendance　on　a　brief　ambition；　

Whatever　stayed　him　or　derided　him；

His　way　was　even　as　ours；

And　we；　with　all　our　wounds　and　all　our　powers；

Must　each　await　alone　at　his　own　height

Another　darkness　or　another　light；

And　there；　of　our　poor　self　dominion　reft；

If　inference　and　reason　shun

Hell；　Heaven；　and　Oblivion；

May　thwarted　will　（perforce　precarious；

But　for　our　conservation　better　thus）

Have　no　misgiving　left

Of　doing　yet　what　here　we　leave　undone？

Or　if　unto　the　last　of　these　we　cleave；

Believing　or　protesting　we　believe

In　such　an　idle　and　ephemeral

Florescence　of　the　diabolical；　

If；　robbed　of　two　fond　old　enormities；

Our　being　had　no　onward　auguries；

What　then　were　this　great　love　of　ours　to　say

For　launching　other　lives　to　voyage　again

A　little　farther　into　time　and　pain；

A　little　faster　in　a　futile　chase

For　a　kingdom　and　a　power　and　a　Race

That　would　have　still　in　sight

A　manifest　end　of　ashes　and　eternal　night？

Is　this　the　music　of　the　toys　we　shake

So　loud；　　as　if　there　might　be　no　mistake

Somewhere　in　our　indomitable　will？

Are　we　no　greater　than　the　noise　we　make

Along　one　blind　atomic　pilgrimage

Whereon　by　crass　chance　billeted　we　go

Because　our　brains　and　bones　and　cartilage

Will　have　it　so？

If　this　we　say；　then　let　us　all　be　still

About　our　share　in　it；　and　live　and　die

More　quietly　thereby。



Where　was　he　going；　this　man　against　the　sky？

You　know　not；　nor　do　I。

But　this　we　know；　if　we　know　anything：

That　we　may　laugh　and　fight　and　sing

And　of　our　transience　here　make　offering

To　an　orient　Word　that　will　not　be　erased；

Or；　save　in　incommunicable　gleams

Too　permanent　for　dreams；

Be　found　or　known。

No　tonic　and　ambitious　irritant

Of　increase　or　of　want

Has　made　an　otherwise　insensate　waste

Of　ages　overthrown

A　ruthless；　veiled；　implacable　foretaste

Of　other　ages　that　are　still　to　be

Depleted　and　rewarded　variously

Because　a　few；　by　fate's　economy；

Shall　seem　to　move　the　world　the　way　it　goes；

No　soft　evangel　of　equality；

Safe　cradled　in　a　communal　repose

That　huddles　into　death　and　may　at　last

Be　covered　well　with　equatorial　snows　

And　all　for　what；　the　devil　only　knows　

Will　aggregate　an　inkling　to　confirm

The　credit　of　a　sage　or　of　a　worm；

Or　tell　us　why　one　man　in　five

Should　have　a　care　to　stay　alive

While　in　his　heart　he　feels　no　violence

Laid　on　his　humor　and　intelligence

When　infant　Science　makes　a　pleasant　face

And　waves　again　that　hollow　toy；　the　Race；

No　planetary　trap　where　souls　are　wrought

For　nothing　but　the　sake　of　being　caught

And　sent　again　to　nothing　will　attune

Itself　to　any　key　of　any　reason

Why　man　should　hunger　through　another　season

To　find　out　why　'twere　better　late　than　soon

To　go　away　and　let　the　sun　and　moon

And　all　the　silly　stars　illuminate

A　place　for　creeping　things；

And　those　that　root　and　trumpet　and　have　wings；

And　herd　and　ruminate；

Or　dive　and　flash　and　poise　in　rivers　and　seas；

Or　by　their　loyal　tails　in　lofty　trees

Hang　screeching　lewd　victorious　derision

Of　man's　immortal　vision。



Shall　we；　because　Eternity　records

Too　vast　an　answer　for　the　time…born　words

We　spell；　whereof　so　many　are　dead　that　once

In　our　capricious　lexicons

Were　so　alive　and　final；　hear　no　more

The　Word　itself；　the　living　word　no　man

Has　ever　spelt；

And　few　have　ever　felt

Without　the　fears　and　old　surrenderings

And　terrors　that　began

When　Death　let　fall　a　feather　from　his