在寒冷的夜的高潮，在波动的时间的交替，当时间的水达到最高点，在我眼前出现了一个幻象，地上的王国和力量。在梦中，我看见他们，地上的儿女，各民族，各种族，都起来了，各人按着自己的智慧，用自己出生的记号作记号。他们的脚没有声音，他们的脸没有亮光;在他们的嘴唇里，没有呼吸，也没有热气，只有一种微妙的、甜美的低语，就像在贫瘠的荒原上的水。它们在我的耳中轻柔地唱着，像激情澎湃的岁月，欲望未减的岁月，戴着泪水的宝石，束着火焰的腰带。一首断断续续的慢歌，仿佛是从尘土和死者中唱出来的，仿佛是从渴望的灵魂中唱出来的，仿佛是从无法言说的事情中唱出来的，仿佛是从无法忍受的泪水中唱出来的。在纷繁遥远的声音里，在融化的歌声里，只有一个尖锐的音符，在黑夜里活着，漂浮着，那是世界的心的悲叹。就像海在海峡的海洞里一样，声音传来，又窄又怪;是坟墓崩裂的声音，是潮汐的雷鸣，是死亡和变化的音乐。他们说、我们等候甚久、等候神的声音、等候一口气、等候日光的涟漪、等候争战的清风、等候死亡日出的光。 "We have prayed not, we, to be strong, To fulfil the desire of our eyes; - Howbeit they have watched for it long, Watched, and the night did them wrong, Yet they say not of day, shall it rise? "They are fearful and feeble with years, Yet they doubt not of day if it be; Yea, blinded and beaten with tears, Yea, sick with foresight of fears, Yet a little, and hardly, they see. "We pray not, we, for the palm, For the fruit ingraffed of the fight, For the blossom of peace and the balm, And the tender triumph and calm Of crownless and weaponless right. "We pray not, we, to behold The latter august new birth, The young day's purple and gold, And divine, and rerisen as of old, The sun-god Freedom on earth. "Peace, and world's honour, and fame, We have sought after none of these things; The light of a life like flame Passing, the storm of a name Shaking the strongholds of kings: "Nor, fashioned of fire and of air, The splendour that burns on his head Who was chiefest in ages that were, Whose breath blew palaces bare, Whose eye shone tyrannies dead: "All these things in your day Ye shall see, O our sons, and shall hold Surely; but we, in the grey Twilight, for one thing we pray, In that day though our memories be cold: "To feel on our brows as we wait An air of the morning, a breath From the springs of the east, from the gate Whence freedom issues, and fate, Sorrow, and triumph, and death "From a land whereon time hath not trod, Where the spirit is bondless and bare, And the world's rein breaks, and the rod, And the soul of a man, which is God, He adores without altar or prayer: For alone of herself and her right She takes, and alone gives grace: And the colours of things lose light, And the forms, in the limitless white Splendour of space without space: "And the blossom of man from his tomb Yearns open, the flower that survives; And the shadows of changes consume In the colourless passionate bloom Of the live light made of our lives: "Seeing each life given is a leaf Of the manifold multiform flower, And the least among these, and the chief, As an ear in the red-ripe sheaf Stored for the harvesting hour. "O spirit of man, most holy, The measure of things and the root, In our summers and winters a lowly Seed, putting forth of them slowly Thy supreme blossom and fruit; "In thy sacred and perfect year, The souls that were parcel of thee In the labour and life of us here Shall be rays of thy sovereign sphere, Springs of thy motion shall be. "There is the fire that was man, The light that was love, and the breath That was hope ere deliverance began, And the wind that was life for a span, And the birth of new things, which is death There, whosoever had light, And, having, for men's sake gave; All that warred against night; All that were found in the fight Swift to be slain and to save; "Undisbranched of the storms that disroot us, Of the lures that enthrall unenticed; The names that exalt and transmute us; The blood-bright splendour of Brutus, The snow-bright splendour of Christ. "There all chains are undone; Day there seems but as night; Spirit and sense are as one In the light not of star nor