前奏:我看到了生命深处的男孩?what’早晨的天空，而希望呢?他的同伴们不会猜测他的失败，热情从他诚挚的眼睛里闪烁出来，而信念呢?天使般的翅膀环绕着他。他灵魂的回声响亮地重复着那些使旧时代的世界神魂颠倒的不朽的旋律;他那颗崇高的心，骄傲地为他的功绩而跳动着，这些功绩里的名字，像英雄的金子一样珍贵。为了爱，他点燃了火焰般的颂歌，用歌声表达了他的渴望。er自由?从他的琴弦里倒出虔诚的香来。殉道者的坟墓闪耀着荣耀。或者当他漫步时，醒来的梦出现，在未来描绘新的伊甸园?当他展开狂喜的翅膀时，他挣脱了预言灵魂中发出警告的摇摇欲坠的情绪。消除一切疑虑!他满怀信任地哭泣; ?From Time?s unknown the perfect yet shall rise; And this full heart attests how much of God Might dwell with man beneath these purple-clouded skies!? Thus holiest shapes inhabit his desire, And love?s dream-turtles sing along his way; Thus faith keeps mounting, like a skylark, higher, As hope engoldens more the morning of his day. But ah! Too high that harp-like heart is strung, To bear the jar of this harsh world?s estate; And ?tis betrayed by that too fervent tongue How burns the fire within, that bodes a wayward fate. Soon on the morning?s wings shall fancy flee, And world-damps quench love?s spiritual flame, And his wild powers, now as the wild waves free, Be reef-bound by low wants and beaten down by shame. Now mark him in the city?s weltering crowd Haggard and pale; and yet, in his distress, How quick to scorn the vile?defy the pround? Grim, cold, and distant now?then seized with recklessness. Yet oft what agony his pride assails, When life?s first morning faith to thought appears Lost in the shadowy past, and nought avails Her calling to the lost?then blood is in his tears. Henceforth must his sole comrade be despair, Sole wanderer by his side in ways forlorn; And as a root-wrenched vine no more may bear, No more by this dry wood shall fruit be borne. No more! And every care of life, in woe And desperation, to the wind is hurled! He thanks dull wondering pity with a blow, And leaps, though into hell, out of the cruel world. First Love I, even when a child, Had fondly brooded, with a glowing cheek And asking heart, with lips apart, and breath Hushed to such silence as the matron dove Preserves while warming into life her young, Over the secretely-disclosing hope Of finding in the fulness of my youth Some sweet, congenial one to love, to call My own. And one has been whose soul Felt to its depth the influence of mine, Albeit between us the sweet name of Love Passed never, to bring blooming to the check Those rosy shames that burn it on the heart? Symbol of heaven, sole synonym of God!? Yet not the less a sympathy that heard, Through many a whisper, Love?s sweet spirit-self, Low breathing in the silence of our souls, Knit us together with a still consent. And she was beautiful in outward shape, As lovely in her mind. Such eyes she had As burn in the far depths of passionate thought, While yet the visionary heart of youth Is lonely in its hope! Cherries were ne?er More ruby-rich, more delicately full, Than were her lips; and, when her young heart would, A smile, ineffably enchanting, played The unwitting conqueress there. Her light, round form Had grace in every impulse, motions fair As her life?s purity; her being all Was as harmonious to the mind, as are Most perfect strains of purest tones prolonged, To music-loving ears. But full of dole Her mortal fate to me! Ere sixteen springs Had bloomed about her being, a most fell And secret malady did feel amid The roses of her cheeks, her lips?but still, Felon-like, shunned the lustre of her eyes, That more replendent grew. And so, before Those glowing orbs had turned their starry light Upon one human face with other troth Than a meek daughter or fond sister yields; Ere her white arms and heaving bosom held A nestling other than the weary head Of sickness or a stranger babe, the grass That whistled dry in the autumnal wind, Was billowing round her grave. And yet I live Within a world that knoweth her no more. . . . . . ?Tis well when misery?s harassed son For shelter to the grave doth go, As to his mountain-hold may run The hunted roe. Yet when, beneath benignant skies, The angle Grace herself appears But Death?s born bride, the stoniest eyes Might break in tears. Chorus of the Hours Ah! That Death Should ever, like a d