huāng yuán THE WASTE LAND
shāo huǐ de nuò dùn Burnt Norton
dōng kē kè East Coker
gān zào de sà 'ěr wéi jí sī The Dry Salvages
xiǎo jí dīng Little Gidding from Four Quartets
J· ā 'ěr fú ruì dé · pǔ lǔ fú luò kè de qíng gē The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
yǎn jīng， wǒ céng zài zuì hòu yī kè de lèi guāng zhōng kàn jiàn nǐ
fēng zài sì diǎn zhòu rán guā qǐ
kòngxīn rén
fú jí ní yà
gěi wǒ qī zǐ de xiàn cí
chuāng qián de zǎo chén Morning at the Window
Hysteria
xù qū Preludes
La Figlia Che Piange
Portrait of a Lady
Rhapsody on a Windy Night
Journey of the Magi
THE HIPPOPOTAMUS
SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES
Aunt Helen
The Boston Evening Transcript
Burbank With a Baedeker: Bleistein With a Cigar
Conversation Galante
| duō shǒu yī yè |
Burbank With a Baedeker: Bleistein With a Cigar艾略特
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire--nil nisi divinum stabile
est; caetera fumus--the gondola stopped, the old
palace was there, how charming its grey and pink--
goats and monkeys, with such hair too!--so the
countess passed on until she came through the
little park, where Niobe presented her with a
cabinet, and so departed.
Burbank crossed a little bridge
Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
They were together, and he fell.
Defunctive music under sea
Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
Had left him, that had loved him well.
The horses, under the axletree
Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
Burned on the water all the day.
But this or such was Bleistein's way:
A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
Chicago Semite Viennese.
A lustreless protrusive eye
Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
The smoky candle end of time
Declines. On the Rialto once.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
Money in furs. The boatman smiles,
Princess Volupine extends
A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
She entertains Sir Ferdinand
Klein. Who clipped the lion's wings
And flea'd his rump and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
Time's ruins, and the seven laws.
est; caetera fumus--the gondola stopped, the old
palace was there, how charming its grey and pink--
goats and monkeys, with such hair too!--so the
countess passed on until she came through the
little park, where Niobe presented her with a
cabinet, and so departed.
Burbank crossed a little bridge
Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
They were together, and he fell.
Defunctive music under sea
Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
Had left him, that had loved him well.
The horses, under the axletree
Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
Burned on the water all the day.
But this or such was Bleistein's way:
A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
Chicago Semite Viennese.
A lustreless protrusive eye
Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
The smoky candle end of time
Declines. On the Rialto once.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
Money in furs. The boatman smiles,
Princess Volupine extends
A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
She entertains Sir Ferdinand
Klein. Who clipped the lion's wings
And flea'd his rump and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
Time's ruins, and the seven laws.