盛夏

亮晃晃的陽光催眠著

瞇著的眼與半開的書

眼睫縫裡七彩的光暈

園裡幽香浮動的花兒

 


蒙馬特巷間的逡巡

舞了整個夜的精靈

錯落又隱約的身影

歡樂酣暢落寞虛無

淡出

 

此刻

只要 Yeats Carla Bruni

在耳邊輕柔呢喃

還有一壺涼透的 Lemon Pressé

相伴




Come, let me sing into your ear;

Those dancing days are gone,

All that silk and satin gear;

Crouch upon a stone,

Wrapping that foul body up

In as foul a rag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup.

The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;

What matter if the knave

That the most could pleasure you,

The children that he gave,

Are somewhere sleeping like a top

Under a marble flag?

I carry the sun in a golden cup.

The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.

Noon upon the clock,

A man may put pretence away

Who leans upon a stick,

May sing, and sing until he drop,

Whether to maid or hag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup,

The moon in a silver bag.

 

by William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)





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