我倚在你爱倚的地方，在古老的黄昏里，太阳一小时前已落在光秃秃的旷野后面，在我们爱过的这片古老的树林里，我多么孤独地坐着，凝视着，凝视着那碧绿摇曳的谷地。夏天的玉米在收割，你知道我看到的是什么，沿着长长的山谷，从很少的树到另一棵树，密密麻麻的玉米，密密麻麻的玉米，绿色的密密麻麻的玉米，从金色的早晨到夜晚，从月亮的夜晚到早晨。我爱它，无论是早晨、中午还是晚上，无论晴雨，因为它在这里仿佛在说:“逝去的人又回来了。”这里和我们熟悉的老田野一样翠绿、美丽，它说:“逝去的，回来了，原汁原味地回来了。”但是，我爱它，胜过在清晨的呼唤中，或在中午的酣睡中，与微笑的星星一起微笑，或在残缺的月亮下昏昏沉沉，士兵兄弟!在这奇怪而昏暗的时刻，因为那时，杂乱的耳朵就是刀剑和长矛，田野就是人的田野。一排接一排的完美方阵在船尾，我可以看到，一个接一个的完美方阵在哑巴军队里，在船尾;一军接一军，一军接一军，直到被旗帜包围的国家屹立不倒，就像死人在无人居住的土地上无声地站立审判。刺刀一声不响:可怕的暮色沉落下来，阴沉而暗沉，落在一个等待领袖的时代，落在一个等待太阳的世界。那么你的狗——我知道它的声音——在夜晚的院子里哭泣，我的爱能很好地诠释那漫长而哀伤的哭泣! In my passion that thou art not, lo! I see thee as thou art, And the pitying fancy brings thee to assuage the anguished heart. 'Oh my brother!' and my bosom's throb of welcome at the word, Claps a hundred thousand hands, and all my legions hail thee lord. And the vast unmotioned myriads, front to front, as at a breath, Live and move to martial music, down the devious dance of death. Ah, thou smilest, scornful brother, at a maiden's dream of war! And thou shakest back thy locks as if-a glow-worm for thy star- I dubbed thee with a blade of grass, by earthlight, in a fairy ring, Knight o' the garter o' Queen Mab, or lord in waiting to her king. Brother, in thy plumèd pride of tented field and turretted tower, Smiling brother, scornful brother, darest thou watch with me one hour? Even now some fate is near, for I shake and know not why, And a wider sight is orbing, orbing, on my moistened eye, And I feel a thousand flutterings round my soul's still vacant field, Like the ravens and the vultures o'er a carnage yet unkilled. Hist! I see the stir of glamour far upon the twilight wold, Hist! I see the vision rising! List! and as I speak behold! These dull mists are mists of morning, and behind yon eastern hill, The hot sun abides my bidding: he shall melt them when I will. All the night that now is past, the foe hath laboured for the day, Creeping thro' the stealthy dark, like a tiger to his prey. Throw this window wider! Strain thine eyes along the dusky vale! Art thou cold with horror? Has thy bearded cheek grown pale? 'Tis the total Russian host, flooding up the solemn plain, Secret as a silent sea, mighty as a moving main! Oh, my country! is there none to rouse thee to the rolling sight? Oh thou gallant sentinel who has watched so oft so well, must thou sleep this only night? So hath the shepherd lain on a rock above a plain, Nor beheld the flood that swelled from some embowelled mount of woe, Waveless, foamless, sure and slow, Silent o'er the vale below, Till nigher still and nigher comes the seeth of fields on fire, And the thrash of falling trees, and the steam of rivers dry, And before the burning flood the wild things of the wood Skulk and scream, and fight, and fall, and flee, and fly. A gun! and then a gun! I' the far and early sun Dost thou see by yonder tree a fleeting redness rise, As if, one after one, ten poppies red had blown, And shed in a blinking of the eyes? They have started from their rest with a bayonet at each breast, Those watchers of the west who shall never watch again! 'Tis nought to die, but oh, God's pity on the woe Of dying hearts that know they die in vain! Beyond yon backward height that meets their dying sight, A thousand tents are white, and a slumbering army lies. 'Brown Bess,' the sergeant cries, as he loads her while he dies, 'Let this devil's deluge reach them, and the good old cause is lost.' He dies upon the word, but his signal gun is heard, Yon ambush green is stirred, yon labouring leaves are tost, And a sudden sabre waves, and like dead from opened graves, A hundred men stand up to meet a host. Dumb as death, with bated breath, Calm upstand that fearless band, And the dear old native land, like a dream of sudden sleep, Passes by each manly eye that is fixed so stern and dry O