我说——那么，最亲爱的，既然如此，既然现在我终于知道了我的命运，既然我所有的爱都无济于事，既然我的生命似乎注定要失败，既然这已经写下来，而且必须写下来——我的全心升起来，骄傲而感激地称颂你的名!收回你给我的希望，——我要求——只是对它的回忆，——还有，如果你不责备的话，请允许我再最后一次骑马。2我的女主人皱起了眉头;这双深沉的黑眼睛，高傲的目光在阻挡我，当怜悯的心要软化的时候，把我固定住，呼吸一两下，生死在握:对!血液又使我恢复了体力;我最后的想法至少不是徒劳的:我和我的情妇，将肩并肩地在一起，呼吸和骑马，这样，我就能再被神化一天。谁知道今晚是不是世界末日?3嘘! if you saw some western cloud All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed By many benedictions---sun's And moon's and evening-star's at once--- And so, you, looking and loving best, Conscious grew, your passion drew Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, Down on you, near and yet more near, Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!--- Thus leant she and lingered---joy and fear! Thus lay she a moment on my breast. IV. Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes already lay behind. What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this, So might I gain, so might I miss. Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell! Where had I been now if the worst befell? And here we are riding, she and I. V. Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds? We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, Saw other regions, cities new, As the world rushed by on either side. I thought,---All labour, yet no less Bear up beneath their unsuccess. Look at the end of work, contrast The petty done, the undone vast, This present of theirs with the hopeful past! I hoped she would love me; here we ride. VI. What hand and brain went ever paired? What heart alike conceived and dared? What act proved all its thought had been? What will but felt the fleshly screen? We ride and I see her bosom heave. There's many a crown for who can reach, Ten lines, a statesman's life in each! The flag stuck on a heap of bones, A soldier's doing! what atones? They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. My riding is better, by their leave. VII. What does it all mean, poet? Well, Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell What we felt only; you expressed You hold things beautiful the best, And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then, Have you yourself what's best for men? Are you---poor, sick, old ere your time--- Nearer one whit your own sublime Than we who never have turned a rhyme? Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. VIII. And you, great sculptor---so, you gave A score of years to Art, her slave, And that's your Venus, whence we turn To yonder girl that fords the burn! You acquiesce, and shall I repine? What, man of music, you grown grey With notes and nothing else to say, Is this your sole praise from a friend, ``Greatly his opera's strains intend, ``Put in music we know how fashions end!'' I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. IX. Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate My being---had I signed the bond--- Still one must lead some life beyond, Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. This foot once planted on the goal, This glory-garland round my soul, Could I descry such? Try and test! I sink back shuddering from the quest. Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. X. And yet---she has not spoke so long! What if heaven be that, fair and strong At life's best, with our eyes upturned Whither life's flower is first discerned, We, fixed so, ever should so abide? What if we still ride on, we two With life for ever old yet new, Changed not in kind but in degree, The instant made eternity,--- And heaven just prove that I and she Ride, ride together, for ever ride?