牧人哪，你去吧，因为他们从山上呼唤你;去吧，牧羊人，解开那些缠着绳子的绳子!不要再让你渴望的羊群不吃东西，不要再让你哀号的同伴掐着喉咙，也不要再让割下的草长出一个头来。但当田野一片寂静，疲惫的人和狗都去休息，有时只看见白色的羊在月光下的绿草地上来来往往，来吧，牧羊人，再开始寻找吧!,后期的收割机在工作——在这个高领域的黑暗的角落里,他离开他的外套,他的篮子,和他的瓦瓶,整个上午在阳光下结合捆,然后,中午,回来他的商店使用,在这里将我静静地坐着,等待着,而我的耳朵从高地远叫折叠羊群承担,与遥远的哭声玉米的收割者——所有的生活杂音在整整一个长夏的日子。高高的，收割了一半的田野上，有一个隐蔽的角落，在这里一直到日落，牧羊人!我会的。深红色的罂粟从浓密的玉米地里探出头来，我看见绿色的圆根和泛黄的茎，我看见淡粉色的卷须卷尾蔓生;被风吹拂的菩提树散发着香气，在我躺卧的弯曲的草地上，沙沙地落下芬芳的花朵，给我遮蔽八月的骄阳;视线向下延伸到牛津的塔楼。 And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book— Come, let me read the oft-read tale again! The story of the Oxford scholar poor, Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain, Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door, One summer-morn forsook His friends, and went to learn the gypsy-lore, And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood, And came, as most men deemed, to little good, But came to Oxford and his friends no more. But once, years after, in the country lanes, Two scholars, whom at college erst he knew, Met him, and of his way of life enquired; Whereat he answered, that the gypsy-crew, His mates, had arts to rule as they desired The workings of men's brains, And they can bind them to what thoughts they will. "And I," he said, "the secret of their art, When fully learned, will to the world impart; But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill." This said, he left them, and returned no more.— But rumours hung about the countryside, That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied, In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey, The same the gypsies wore. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring; At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors, On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering, But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. And I myself seem half to know thy looks, And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace; And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place; Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer-heats, 'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills, And watch the warm, green-muffled Cumner hills, And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground! Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer-nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe, Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, As the punt's rope chops round; And leaning backward in a pensive dream, And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in the shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers, And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. And then they land, and thou art seen no more!— Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May, Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam, Or cross a stile into the public way. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers—the frail-leafed white anemony, Dark bluebells drenched with dews of summer eves, And purple orchises with spotted leaves— But none hath words she can report of thee. And, above Godstow Bridge, when hay-time's here In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames, Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames, To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass, Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown; Marked thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare, Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air— But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone! At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, Where at her open door the housewife darns, Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. Children, who early ra