我的書架上面放著一本John Donne的詩集,是那種偶爾隨手翻了兩下就又再度丟在旁邊的小冊,說要找到突然令人感動的一篇也不怎麼容易。儘管你知道美手都是經典之作,但是一篇詩寫得再好,然而一個人的心靈沒有為之共鳴之處,恐怕也是如一篇隨手可得的散文般平凡。下面這首詩取自我書架上那本類似這種的小冊,這首Broken heart描寫一個人是如何刻骨銘心地去愛但是愛情又是多麼地渺小和世人對愛的眼光又是如何地尖酸刻薄。最後他道出至愛是存在,然而在一次轟烈之後,恐怕再也無力燃起曾經綻放的火花了。

 

He is stark mad, whoever says,

    That he hath been in love an hour,

Yet not that love so soon decays,
    But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
    Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
    I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
    If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
    To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
    By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
    He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
    Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
    But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
    More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
    At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.

 

最後我想問候妳過得好不好,我沒有什麼地方可以表達自己對妳的情感,或許在這荒涼的地方,還有一點空間可以吶喊。

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