这难道就是你向我求爱， 赢得我的心的方式吗？用你那昏睡的低语和冷酷的接吻？死神啊，死神！
我们的婚礼难道不会有盛大的仪式吗？
你难道不在你茶色的鬈发上带一个花环吗？
难道没有人在你的面前打着旗帜？难道夜晚不会被你火炬一般的红光照亮吗？死神啊，死神！
吹着你的海螺来吧，在无眠的夜晚来吧。
给我穿上红艳的披风，抓紧我的手，把我带走吧。在我的门口备好你的车，让你的马儿们尽管焦躁地嘶鸣吧。txt电子书分享平台
园丁集 第七章（2）
揭开我的面纱，骄傲地看我的脸吧，死神啊，我的死神！
八二
我和我的新娘，今晚要做死亡游戏。
夜色漆黑，天空的云起伏变幻，大海的波涛翻腾咆哮。
我和我的新娘，离开睡梦的暖榻，撞开门，冲了出去。
我们坐在秋千上，狂暴的风从我们身后狠命地一推。
我的新娘飞了起来，伴着恐惧与惊喜，她颤抖着，紧紧地依偎在我的胸前。
我温柔地安抚她很久。
我给她铺开花床，关上房门，给她的眼睛挡住粗鲁的光。
我轻吻她的双唇，温柔地在她的耳畔低语，直到她酥软地半醒半睡。
她迷失在朦胧甜蜜而无边无垠的轻雾里。
她对我的爱抚没有回应，我的歌声不能把她唤醒。
今晚来的是，旷野中风暴的呼唤。
我的新娘颤抖着飞了起来，她紧紧抓着我的手，出来了。
她的头发在风中飞舞，她的轻纱在脸上飘扬，她的花环在胸前簌簌作响。
死亡的推力把她推进了生命。
我和我的新娘，面对着面，心贴着心。
八三
她住在玉米田边的山坡上，附近是一眼清泉，欢笑的泉水流过古松庄严的树影。女人会来这里注满她们的水罐，旅人们会来这里休息谈话。她日日伴着泉水叮咚的韵律劳动、做梦。
一天晚上，一个陌生人从白云遮掩的山峰上走下。他的头发像昏睡的蛇一般乱纷纷地纠缠着。我们惊奇地问：“你是谁？”他没有回答，只是坐在喧闹的水边，默默地注视着她的茅草屋。我们恐惧得心里乱跳，天黑时我们都回家去了。
第二天一早，女人们来到雪松旁的泉边汲水，她们发现她的房门开着，没有了她的声音，她的笑脸去了哪里？空空的水罐躺在地板上，墙角她的灯早已燃尽熄灭。没有人知道她天亮前逃到哪里去了—陌生人也不见了。
五月，阳光变得强烈起来，积雪融化了，我们坐在泉边哭泣。我们心中充满怀疑：“她去的那片土地上有泉水吗，这些炎热干渴的日子里，她到哪里去注满她的水罐啊？”我们沮丧地问着彼此，“我们生活的这些山外边，还有土地吗？”
那是一个夏天的夜晚， 微风从南方吹来， 我坐在她荒废了的屋子里，那盏熄灭了的灯仍然一动不动地站在那里。就在那时，猛然间，群山在我眼前消失了，像窗帘被拉开一样。“啊，那过来的，不正是她吗！你好吗，我的孩子？你幸福吗？可是，你在这无遮无拦的天宇下，在哪里安身呢？还有，天啊，我们的清泉不在那里，不能缓解你的干渴。”
“那里还是同一片天空，”她说，“只是没了群山的环绕—还是同一股清泉，流成了江河—还是同一片土地，阔展成平川。”
“真是样样齐全，”我叹道，“只是没有我们。”
她悲伤地笑了笑，说：“你们在我心里呢。”我醒来了，夜色中，听着泉水叮咚，听着雪松沙沙作响。
八四
黄绿相间的稻田上，掠过秋日的云影，后面紧跟着狂追的太阳。
蜜蜂忘记吮吸花蜜，它们愚笨地盘旋着，嗡嗡地唱着，陶醉于光明中。
鸭子们在河中的小岛上，欢快地呱呱喧闹着，无缘无故。
谁都不要回家吧，兄弟们，今天早上，谁都不要去工作。
让我们用暴风雨占领蓝天，让我们飞奔着抢夺空间。
笑声在空气里游荡，像洪水冲击着泡沫。
兄弟们，让我们在这空虚无聊的歌声中挥霍我们的清晨吧。
八五
你是谁，读者，百年之后读着我的诗？
我无法从春天的财富里为你送去一朵鲜花，也无法从远方的云里为你送去一缕金霞。
打开门向四周看看。
从你繁花盛开的园中采集百年前消失了的鲜花的芬芳记忆。
在你心的欢乐里，愿你感受吟唱春日清晨的鲜活的喜悦，让欢快的声音穿越一百年的时光。
园丁集 第八章（1）
The Gardener 1
SERVANT： Have mercy upon your servant； my queen！
QUEEN： The assembly is over and my servants are all gone。 Why do you e at this late hour？
SERVANT： When you have finished with others； that is my time。 I e to ask what remains for your last servant to do。
QUEEN： What can you expect when it is too late？
SERVANT： Make me the gardener of your flower garden。
QUEEN： What folly is this？
SERVANT： I will give up my other work。 I will throw my swords and lances down in the dust。 Do not send me to distant courts； do not bid me undertake new conquests。 But make me the gardener of your flower garden。
QUEEN： What will your duties be？
SERVANT： The service of your idle ； where your feet will be greeted with praise at every step by the flowers eager for ； where the early evening moon will struggle to kiss your skirt through the leaves。
I will replenish with scented oil the lamp that burns by your bedside； and decorate your footstool with sandalwood and saffron paste in wondrous designs。
QUEEN： What will you have for your reward？
SERVANT： To be allowed to hold your little fists like tender lotus…buds and slip flower chains over your wrists； to tinge the soles of your feet with the red juice of ashoka petals and kiss away the speck of dust that may chance to linger there。
QUEEN： Your prayers are granted； my servant； you will be the gardener of my flower garden。
The Gardener 2
“Ah； poet； the evening draws near； your hair is turning grey。
“Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter？”
“It is evening；” the poet said； “and I am listening because someone may call from the village； late though it be。
“I watch if young straying hearts meet together； and two pairs of eager eyes beg for music to break their silence and speak for them。
“Who is there to weave their passionate songs； if I sit on the shore of life and contemplate death and the beyond？
“The early evening star disappears。
“The glow of a funeral pyre slowly dies by the silent river。
“Jackals cry in chorus from the courtyard of the deserted house in the light of the worn…out moon。
“If some wanderer； leaving home； e here to watch the night and with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness； who is there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears； if I shutting my doors； should try to free myself from mortal bonds？
“It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey。
“I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of this village。
“Some have smiles； sweet and simple； and some a sly twinkle in their eyes。
“Some have tears that well up in the daylight； and others tears that are hidden in the gloom。
“They all have need for me； and I have no time to brood over the afterlife。
“I am of an age with each； what matter if my hair turns grey？”书 包 网 txt小说上传分享
园丁集 第八章（2）
The Gardener 3
In the morning I cast my net into the sea。
I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty—some shone like a smile； some glistened like tears； and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride。
When with the day’s burden I went home； my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower。
I hesitated for a moment； and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up； and stood silent。
She glanced at them and said；“What strange things are these？ I know not of what use they are！”
I bowed my head in shame and thought；“ Have not fought for these； I did not buy them in the market； they are not fit gifts for her。”
Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street。
In the morning travellers came； they picked them up and carried them into far countries。
The Gardener 4
Ah me； why did they build my house by the road to the market town？
They moor their laden boats near my trees。
They e and go and wander at their will。
I sit and watch them； my time wears on。
Turn them away I cannot。 And thus my days pass by。
Night and day their steps sound by my door。
Vainly I cry； “I do not know you。”
Some of them are known to my fingers； some to my nostrils； the blood in my veins seems to know them； and some are known to my dreams。
Turn them away I cannot。 I call them and say； “e to my house whoever chooses。 Yes； e。”
In the morning the bell rings in the temple。
They e with their baskets in their hands。
Their feet are rosy red。 The early light of dawn is on their faces。
Turn them away I cannot。 I call them and I say； “e to my garden to gather flowers。 e hither。”
In the mid…day the gong sounds at the palace gate。
I know not why they leave their work and linger near my hedge。
The flowers in their hair are pale and faded； the notes are languid in their flutes。
Turn them away I cannot。 I call them and say；“The shade is cool under my trees。 e； friends。”
At night the crickets chirp in the woods。
Who is it that es slowly to my door and gently knocks？
I vaguely see the face； not a word is spoken； the stillness of the sky is all around。
Turn away my silent guest I cannot。 I look at the face through the dark； and hours of dreams pass by。
The Gardener 5
I am restless。 I am athirst for far…away things。
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance。
O Great Beyond； O the keen call of thy flute！
I forget； I ever forget； that I have no wings to fly； that I am bound in this spot evermore。
I am eager and wakeful； I am a stranger in a strange land。
Thy breath es to me whispering an impossible hope。
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own。
O Far…to…seek； O the keen call of thy flute！
I forget； I ever forget； that I know not the way； that I have not the win