伟大的四肢陷入混乱，伟大的脸庞化为黑夜——为什么俯身在不成形的裹尸布上，在如此古老的云中寻找强大的领主和光明的景象?七个沉没的英格兰一个接一个地埋在那里，我想知道，为什么一把闲置的铁锹，会像雷一样，把海洋的尘土抖得冒烟，把太阳闷死?在这样铸成的粘土云中，人能分辨出什么形状呢?这些领主也许能照亮征服和胜利的奥秘，他们在历史上高高在上，但他们一去不复返。被诺曼战船顶着，金龙死去:我们不会在歌谣的琴弦中醒来，小事情的美好时光，我们不会看到神圣的国王骑在塞文身边。僵硬，奇特，色彩古雅，就像巴叶的刺绣，那个黎明的英格兰依然存在，而阿尔弗雷德和丹麦人的故事似乎整个部落都假装太英国而不真实。一个岛上的好国王曾经统治过;当他走过一棵苹果树时，海上出现了绿色的魔鬼，海洋植物沉重地拖着，还有蛋白石黏液的痕迹。然而阿尔弗雷德不是童话;他的日子和我们的日子一样，他也向远处看了一小时，看到了有人居住的平原和低垂的天空，从塔楼的几扇窗户，那是一个人的头。 But who shall look from Alfred's hood Or breathe his breath alive? His century like a small dark cloud Drifts far; it is an eyeless crowd, Where the tortured trumpets scream aloud And the dense arrows drive. Lady, by one light only We look from Alfred's eyes, We know he saw athwart the wreck The sign that hangs about your neck, Where One more than Melchizedek Is dead and never dies. Therefore I bring these rhymes to you Who brought the cross to me, Since on you flaming without flaw I saw the sign that Guthrum saw When he let break his ships of awe, And laid peace on the sea. Do you remember when we went Under a dragon moon, And `mid volcanic tints of night Walked where they fought the unknown fight And saw black trees on the battle-height, Black thorn on Ethandune? And I thought, "I will go with you, As man with God has gone, And wander with a wandering star, The wandering heart of things that are, The fiery cross of love and war That like yourself, goes on." O go you onward; where you are Shall honour and laughter be, Past purpled forest and pearled foam, God's winged pavilion free to roam, Your face, that is a wandering home, A flying home for me. Ride through the silent earthquake lands, Wide as a waste is wide, Across these days like deserts, when Pride and a little scratching pen Have dried and split the hearts of men, Heart of the heroes, ride. Up through an empty house of stars, Being what heart you are, Up the inhuman steeps of space As on a staircase go in grace, Carrying the firelight on your face Beyond the loneliest star. Take these; in memory of the hour We strayed a space from home And saw the smoke-hued hamlets, quaint With Westland king and Westland saint, And watched the western glory faint Along the road to Frome. BOOK I THE VISION OF THE KING Before the gods that made the gods Had seen their sunrise pass, The White Horse of the White Horse Vale Was cut out of the grass. Before the gods that made the gods Had drunk at dawn their fill, The White Horse of the White Horse Vale Was hoary on the hill. Age beyond age on British land, Aeons on aeons gone, Was peace and war in western hills, And the White Horse looked on. For the White Horse knew England When there was none to know; He saw the first oar break or bend, He saw heaven fall and the world end, O God, how long ago. For the end of the world was long ago, And all we dwell to-day As children of some second birth, Like a strange people left on earth After a judgment day. For the end of the world was long ago, When the ends of the world waxed free, When Rome was sunk in a waste of slaves, And the sun drowned in the sea. When Caesar's sun fell out of the sky And whoso hearkened right Could only hear the plunging Of the nations in the night. When the ends of the earth came marching in To torch and cresset gleam. And the roads of the world that lead to Rome Were filled with faces that moved like foam, Like faces in a dream. And men rode out of the eastern lands, Broad river and burning plain; Trees that are Titan flowers to see, And tiger skies, striped horribly, With tints of tropic rain. Where Ind's enamelled peaks arise Around that inmost one, Where ancient eagles on it