献给那甜蜜的死亡的诗与歌

我在苹果树下叫醒你
你母亲在那里为你劬劳
生养你的在那里为你劬劳

求你将我放在心上如印记
带在你臂上如戳记
因为爱情如死之坚强
嫉恨如阴间之残忍
所发的电光，是火焰的电光
是耶和华的烈焰

万般前尘浪不止
涛涛过眼无还期
试问东风花落否
缤纷尽随流波去

“我要扼住命运的喉咙，它绝不能使我完全屈服！”

 "I will seize fate by the throat, it shall not wholly overcome me!"

T.S. Eliot

Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them. The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.