听到我,兄弟,轻轻碰到;一点点,,not yet, Thou shalt laugh, and soon forget: Now the midnight draweth near. I have little more to tell; Soon with hallow stroke and knell, Thou shalt count the palace bell, Calling that the hour is here. Burdens black and strange to bear, I must tell, and thou must share, Listening with that stony stare, Even as many a man before. Years have lightly come and gone In their jocund unison, But the tides of life roll on- They remember now no more. Once upon a night of glee, In an hour of revelry, As I wandered restlessly, I beheld with burning eye, How a pale procession rolled Through a quarter quaint and old, With its banners and its gold, And the crucifix went by. Well I knew that body brave That was pierced and hung to save, But my flesh was now a grave For the soul that gnashed within. He that they were bearing by, With their banners white and high, He was pure, and foul was I, And his whiteness mocked my sin. Ah, meseemed that even he, Would not wait to look on me, In my years and misery, Things that he alone could heal. In mine eyes I felt the flame Of a rage that naught could tame, And I cried and cursed his name, Till my brain began to reel. In a moment I was 'ware, How that many watching there, Fearfully with blanch and stare, Crossed themselves and shrank away; Then upon my reeling mind, Like a sharp blow from behind, Fell the truth, and left me blind, Hopeless now and all astray. O'er the city wandering wide, Seeking but some place to hide, Where the sounds of mirth had died, Through the shaken night I stole; From the ever-eddying stream Of the crowds that did but seem Like the processions in a dream To my empty echoing soul. Till I came at last alone To a hidden street of stone, Where the city's monotone On the silence fell no more. Then I saw how one in white With a footstep mute and light, Through the shadow of the night Like a spirit paced before. And a sudden stillness came Through my spirit and my frame, And a spell without a name Held me in his mystic track. Though his presence seemed so mild, Yet he led me like a child, With a yearning strange and wild, That I dared not turn me back. Oh, I could not see his face, Nor behold his utmost grace, Yet I might not change my pace Fastened by a strange belief; For his steps were sad and slow, And his hands hung straight below, And his head was bowed, as though Pressed by some immortal grief. So I followed, yet not I Held alone that company: Every silent passer-by Paled and turned and joined with me; So we followed still and fleet, While the city street by street, Fell behind our rustling feet Like a deadened memory. Where the sound of sin and riot Broke upon the night's dim quiet, And the solemn bells hung nigh it Echoed from their looming towers; Where the mourners wept alway, Watching for the morning grey; Where the weary toiler lay, Husbanding the niggard hours; By the gates where all night long Guests in many a joyous throng, With the sound of dance and song, Dreamed in golden palaces; Still he passed, and door by door Opened with a pale outpour, And the revel rose no more Hushed in deeper phantasies. As we passed, the talk and stir Of the quiet wayfarer And the noisy banqueter Died upon the midnight dim. They that reeled in drunken glee Shrank upon the trembling knee, And their jests died pallidly, As they rose and followed him. From the street and from the hall, From the flare of festival None that saw him stayed, but all Followed where his wonder would: And our feet at first so few Gathered as those white feet drew To a pallid multitude; And the hushed and awful beat Of our pale unnumbered feet Made a murmur strange and sweet, As we followed evermore. Now the night was almost passed, And the dawn was overcast, When the stranger stayed at last At a great cathedral door. Never word the stranger said, But he slowly raised his head, And the vast door opened By an unseen hand withdrawn; And in silence wave on wave, Like an army from the grave, Up the aisles and up the nave, All that spectral crowd rolled on. As I followed close behind, Knowledge like an awful wind Seemed to blow my naked mind Into darkness black and bare; Yet with longing wild and dim, And a terror vast and grim, Nearer still I pressed to him, Till I almost touched his hair. From the gloom so strange and eery, From the organ low and dreary, Rose the wailing miserere, By mysterious voices sung; And a dim light shone, none knew,