Stanzas From The Grande Chartreuse By Matthew Arnold-Gideon Wagner

歌手 : Gideon Wagner
语种 : 英语
时长 : 03:13

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TXT Stanzas From The Grande Chartreuse By Matthew Arnold-Gideon Wagner 文本歌词

Stanzas From The Grande Chartreuse By Matthew Arnold - Gideon Wagner
Stanzas From The Grande Chartreuse By Matthew Arnold
Through Alpine meadows softsuffused
With rain where thick the crocus blows
Past the dark forges long disused
The muletrack from Saint Laurent goes
The bridge is crossd and slow we ride
Through forest up the mountainside
The autumnal evening darkens round
The wind is up and drives the rain
While hark far down with strangled sound
Doth the Dead Guiers stream complain
Where that wet smoke among the woods
Over his boiling cauldron broods
Swift rush the spectral vapours white
Past limestone scars with ragged pines
Showingthen blotting from our sight
Haltthrough the clouddrift something shines
High in the valley wet and drear
The huts of Courrerie appear
Strike leftward cries our guide and higher
Mounts up the stony forestway
At last the encircling trees retire
Look through the showery twilight grey
What pointed roofs are these advance
A palace of the Kings of France
Approach for what we seek is here
Alight and sparely sup and wait
For rest in this outbuilding near
Then cross the sward and reach that gate
Knock pass the wicket Thou art come
To the Carthusians worldfamed home
The silent courts where night and day
Into their stonecarved basins cold
The splashing icy fountains play
The humid corridors behold
Where ghostlike in the deepening night
Cowld forms brush by in gleaming white
The chapel where no organs peal
Invests the stern and naked prayer
With penitential cries they kneel
And wrestle rising then with bare
And white uplifted faces stand
Passing the Host from hand to hand
Each takes and then his visage wan
Is buried in his cowl once more
The cellsthe suffering Son of Man
Upon the wallthe kneeworn floor
And where they sleep that wooden bed
Shall their coffin be when dead
The library where tract and tome
Not to feed priestly pride are there
To hymn the conquering march of Rome
Nor yet to amuse as ours are
They paint of souls the inner strife
Their drops of blood their death in life
The garden overgrownyet mild
See fragrant herbs are flowering there
Strong children of the Alpine wild
Whose culture is the brethrens care
Of human tasks their only one
And cheerful works beneath the sun