To Mrs. Will. H. Low.
From Underwoods
Robert Louis Stevenson
Even in the bluest noonday of July,
There could not run the smallest breath of wind
But all the quarter sounded like a wood;
And in the chequered silence and above
The hum of city cabs that sought the Bois,
Suburban ashes shivered into song.
A patter and a chatter and a chirp
And a long dying hiss -- it was as though
Starched old brocaded dames through all the house
Had trailed a strident skirt, or her whole sky
Even in a wink had over-brimmed in rain.
Hark, in these shady parlours, how it talks
Of the near autumn, how the smitten ash
Trembles and augurs floods! O not too long
In these inconstant latitudes delay,
O not too late from the unbeloved north
Trim your escape! For soon shall this low roof
Resound indeed with rain, soon shall your eyes
Search the foul garden, search the darkened rooms,
Nor find one jewel but the blazing log.
七月のよく晴れた正午でさえ
そこには、僅かな微風も流れて来なかった
しかし街全体が森のように思えた
そして数奇な静寂の中で、街の悪臭の上手に森を探そうと車で乗りつける
22:15 2016/02/12金
Good-bye to All That Robert Graves バリ田悦子訳
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僕は僕の同期生の誰に関しても、彼らが学校を出た後、名を上げるに決まっていると何時も予測した。戦争はこうした計算を狂わせた。多くの頭の鈍い男子らが手短で見事な軍歴を持った、特に航空‐戦闘員のように、飛行中隊、また飛行司令官と成って行きながら。「曖昧な」マクネア、学内首席はライフル銃兵としてヴィクトーリア十字勲章...
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