像别人的头一样，躺在低垂的桂冠下:生命似乎是一首完美的歌，已经结束了:把最后一个伟大的诗人抬到他最后的床上。他所爱的大地啊，你最高贵的声音沉默了。他爱的土地，爱他的土地!再也没有你的草地，光滑的草坪，荒芜的海岸，芬芳的花朵和颤抖的果实的花园，或古老的林地，像德鲁伊的躺椅铺开，主人的脚将踏过。死亡的小裂缝撕裂了完美的琴;唱不朽歌曲的歌者死了。瞧，在这忧郁而庄重的季节里，当那片注定要凋零的、不情愿的叶子，从枯萎的大地的奇异的日冕上凋落下来的时候，与森林和海浪的徘徊的叹息，混合着一个民族的哀愁的低语，因为他的叶子永不凋谢，永不凋落。他已经远行，超越了太阳和阵雨。对我们来说，秋天的光辉，秋天的火焰，很快冬天的寂静将是我们的:他是永恒的春天，不朽的名声，没有凡人的花朵。虽然他离开了我们，维吉尔向他致敬，忒奥克里托斯;卡图卢斯，头脑最强大的卢克莱修，在冥河的海滩上各自向他们的兄弟打招呼; Proudly a gaunt right hand doth Dante reach; Milton and Wordsworth bid him welcome home; Bright Keats to touch his raiment doth beseech; Coleridge, his locks aspersed with fairy foam, Calm Spenser, Chaucer suave, His equal friendship crave: And godlike spirits hail him guest, in speech Of Athens, Florence, Weimar, Stratford, Rome. What needs his laurel our ephemeral tears, To save from visitation of decay? Not in this temporal sunlight, now, that bay Blooms, nor to perishable mundane ears Sings he with lips of transitory clay; For he hath joined the chorus of his peers In habitations of the perfect day: His earthly notes a heavenly audience hears, And more melodious are henceforth the spheres, Enriched with music stol'n from earth away. He hath returned to regions whence he came. Him doth the spirit divine Of universal loveliness reclaim. All nature is his shrine. Seek him henceforward in the wind and sea, In earth's and air's emotion or repose, In every star's august serenity, And in the rapture of the flaming rose. There seek him if ye would not seek in vain, There, in the rhythm and music of the Whole; Yea, and for ever in the human soul Made stronger and more beauteous by his strain. For lo! creation's self is one great choir, And what is nature's order but the rhyme Whereto the worlds keep time, And all things move with all things from their prime? Who shall expound the mystery of the lyre? In far retreats of elemental mind Obscurely comes and goes The imperative breath of song, that as the wind Is trackless, and oblivious whence it blows. Demand of lilies wherefore they are white, Extort her crimson secret from the rose, But ask not of the Muse that she disclose The meaning of the riddle of her might: Somewhat of all things sealed and recondite, Save the enigma of herself, she knows. The master could not tell, with all his lore, Wherefore he sang, or whence the mandate sped; Ev'n as the linnet sings, so I, he said;-- Ah, rather as the imperial nightingale, That held in trance the ancient Attic shore, And charms the ages with the notes that o'er All woodland chants immortally prevail! And now, from our vain plaudits greatly fled, He with diviner silence dwells instead, And on no earthly sea with transient roar, Unto no earthly airs, he trims his sail, But far beyond our vision and our hail Is heard for ever and is seen no more. No more, O never now, Lord of the lofty and the tranquil brow Whereon nor snows of time Have fall'n, nor wintry rime, Shall men behold thee, sage and mage sublime. Once, in his youth obscure, The maker of this verse, which shall endure By splendour of its theme that cannot die, Beheld thee eye to eye, And touched through thee the hand Of every hero of thy race divine, Ev'n to the sire of all the laurelled line, The sightless wanderer on the Ionian strand, With soul as healthful as the poignant brine, Wide as his skies and radiant as his seas, Starry from haunts of his Familiars nine, Glorious Mæonides. Yea, I beheld thee, and behold thee yet: Thou hast forgotten, but can I forget? The accents of thy pure and sovereign tongue, Are they not ever goldenly impressed On memory's palimpsest? I see the wizard locks like night that hung, I tread the floor thy hallowing feet have trod; I see the hands a nation's lyre that strung, The eyes that looked through life and gazed on God. The seasons change, the winds they shift and veer; The grass of yesteryear Is dead; the birds depart, the groves decay: Empires dissolve and peoples disappea