Ay； ay； my God； much remains still。 My fate has not cheated me of everything。
No passage was left anywhere through which could enter the song of birds； the murmur of leaves or hum of the busy village。
The only sound that echoed in its dark dome was that of incantations which I chanted。
My mind became keen and still like a pointed flame； my senses swooned in ecstasy。
I knew not how time passed till the thunderstone had struck the temple； and a pain stung me through the heart。
The lamp looked pale and ashamed； the carvings on the walls； like chained dreams； stared meaningless in the light as they would fain hide themselves。
I looked at the image on the altar。 I saw it smiling and alive with the living touch of God。
The night I had imprisoned had spread its wings and vanished。
The Gardener 73
Infinite wealth is not yours； my patient and dusky mother dust！
You toil to fill the mouths of your children； but food is scarce。
The gift of gladness that you have for us is never perfect。
The toys that you make for your children are fragile。
You cannot satisfy all our hungry hopes； but should I desert you for that？
Your smile which is shadowed with pain is sweet to my eyes。 txt小说上传分享
园丁集 第十二章（5）
Your love which knows not fulfilment is dear to my heart。
From your breast you have fed us with life but not immortality； that is why your eyes are ever wakeful。
For ages you are working with colour and song； yet your heaven is not built； but only its sad suggestion。
Over your creations of beauty there is the mist of tears。
I will pour my songs into your mute heart； and my love into your love。
I will worship you with labour。
I have seen your tender face and I love your mournful dust； Mother Earth。
The Gardener 74
In the world’s audience hall； the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeam and the stars of midnight。
Thus my songs share their seats in the heart of the world with the music of the clouds and forests。
But； you man of riches； your wealth has no part in the simple grandeur of the sun’s glad gold and the mellow gleam of the musing moon。
The blessing of all…embracing sky is not shed upon it。
And when death appears； it pales and withers and crumbles into dust。
The Gardener 75
At midnight the would…be ascetic announced：
“This is the time to give up my home and seek for God。 Ah； who has held me so long in delusion here？”
God whispered；“I。”but the ears of the man were stopped。
With a baby asleep at her breast lay his wife； peacefully sleeping on one side of the bed。
The man said；“Who are ye that have fooled me so long？”
The voice said again；“They are God。”but he heard it not。
The baby cried out in its dream； nestling close to its mother。
God manded；“Stop； fool； leave not thy home。”but still he heard not。
God sighed and plained；“Why does my servant wander to seek me； forsaking me？”
The Gardener 76
The fair was on before the temple。 It had rained from the early morning and the day came to its end。
Brighter than all the gladness of the crowd was the bright smile of a girl who bought for a farthing a whistle of palm leaf。
The shrill joy of that whistle floated above all laughter and noise。
An endless throng of people came and jostled together。 The road was muddy； the river in flood； the field under water in ceaseless rain。
Greater than all the troubles of the crowd was a little boy’s trouble—he had not a farthing to buy a painted stick。
His wistful eyes gazing at the shop made this whole meeting of men so pitiful。
The Gardener 77
The workman and his wife from the west country are busy digging to make bricks for the kiln。
Their little daughter goes to the landing…place by the river； there she has no end of scouring and scrubbing of pots and pans。
Her little brother； with shaven head and brown； naked； mud…covered limbs；follows after her and waits patiently on the high bank at her bidding。
She goes back home with the full pitcher poised on her head； the shining brass pot in her left hand； holding the child with her right—she the tiny servant of her mother； grave with the weight of the household cares。 电子书 分享网站
园丁集 第十二章（6）
One day I saw this naked boy sitting with legs outstretched。
In the water his sister sat rubbing a drinking…pot with a handful of earth； turning it round and round。
Near by a soft…haired lamb stood gazing along the bank。
It came close to where the boy sat and suddenly bleated aloud； and the child started up and screamed。
His sister left off cleaning her pot and ran up。
She took up her brother in one arm and the lamb in the other； and dividing her caresses between them bound in one bond of affection the offspring of beast and man。
The Gardener 78
It was in May。 The sultry noon seemed endlessly long。 The dry earth gaped with thirst in the heat。
When I heard from the riverside a voice calling； “e； my darling！”
I shut my book and opened the window to look out。
I saw a big buffalo with mud…stained hide； standing near the river with placid；patient eyes； and a youth； knee deep in water； calling it to its bath。
I smiled amused and felt a touch of sweetness in my heart。
The Gardener 79
I often wonder where lie hidden the boundaries of recognition between man and the beast whose heart knows no spoken language。
Through what primal paradise in a remote morning of creation ran the simple path by which their hearts visited each other。
Those marks of their constant tread have not been effaced though their kinship has been long forgotten。
Yet suddenly in some wordless music the dim memory wakes up and the beast gazes into the man’s face with a tender trust； and the man looks down into its eyes with amused affection。
It seems that the two friends meet masked and vaguely know each other through the disguise。
The Gardener 80
With a glance of your eyes you could plunder all the wealth of songs struck from poets’ harps； fair woman！
But for their praises you have no ear； therefore I e to praise you。
You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world。
But it is your loved ones； unknown to fame； whom you choose to worship； therefore I worship you。
The perfection of your arms would add glory to kingly splendour with their touch。
But you use them to sweep away the dust； and to make clean your humble home； therefore I am filled with awe。
The Gardener 81
Why do you whisper so faintly in my ears； O Death； my Death？
When the flowers droop in the evening and cattle e back to their stalls； you stealthily e to my side and speak words that I do not understand。
Is this how you must woo and win me with the opiate of drowsy murmur and cold kisses； O Death； my Death？
Will there be no proud ceremony for our wedding？
Will you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks？
Is there none to carry your banner before you； and will not the night be on fire with your red torch…lights； O Death； my Death？
e with your conch…shells sounding； e in the sleepless night。
Dress me with a crimson mantle； grasp my hand and take me。
园丁集 第十二章（7）
Let your chariot be ready at my door with your horses neighing impatiently。
Raise my veil and look at my face proudly； O Death； my Death！
The Gardener 82
We are to play the game of death tonight； my bride and I。
The night is black； the clouds in the sky are capricious； and the waves are raving at sea。
We have left our bed of dreams； flung open the door and e out； my bride and I。
We sit upon a swing； and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind。
My bride starts up with fear and delight； she trembles and clings to my breast。
Long have I served her tenderly。
I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes。
I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor。
She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness。
She answered not to my touch； my songs failed to arouse her。
Tonight has e to us the call of the storm from the wild。
My bride has shivered and stood up； she has clasped my hand and e out。
Her hair is flying in the wind； her veil is fluttering； her garland rustles over her breast。
The push of death has swung her into life。
We are face to face and heart to heart； my bride and I。
The Gardener 83
She dwelt on the hillside by the edge of a maize…field； near the spring that flows in laughing rills through the solemn shadows of ancient trees。 The women came there to fill their jars； and travellers would sit there to rest and talk。 She worked and dreamed daily to the tune of the bubbling stream。
One evening the stranger came down from the cloud…hidden peak； his locks were tangled like drowsy snakes。 We asked in wonder； “Who are you？” He answered not but sat by the garrulous stream and silently gazed at the hut where she dwelt。 Our hearts quaked