s not a matter of events； it depends upon the tides of the mind。 Disease is metrical； closing in at shorter and shorter periods towards death； sweeping abroad at longer and longer intervals towards recovery。 Sorrow for one cause was intolerable yesterday； and will be intolerable tomorrow； today it is easy to bear； but the cause has not passed。 Even the burden of a spiritual distress unsolved is bound to leave the heart to a temporary peace； and remorse itself does not remain—it returns。 Gaiety takes us by a dear surprise。 If we had made a course of notes of its visits； we might have been on the watch； and would have had an expectation instead of a discovery。 No one makes such observations； in all the diaries of students of the interior world； there have never e to light the records of the Kepler of such cycles。 But Thomas à Kempis knew of the recurrences； if he did not measure them。 In his cell alone with the elements—“What wouldst thou more than these for out of these were all things made”—he learnt the stay to be found in the depth of the hour of bitterness； and the remembrance that restrains the soul at the ing of the moment of delight； giving it a more conscious wele； but presaging for it an inexorable flight。 And “rarely； rarely est thou；” sighed Shelley； not to Delight merely； but to the Spirit of Delight。 Delight can be pelled beforehand； called； and constrained to our service—Ariel can be bound to a daily task； but such artificial violence throws life out of metre； and it is not the spirit that is thus pelled。 THAT flits upon an orbit elliptically or parabolically or hyperbolically curved； keeping no man knows what trysts with Time。
It seems fit that Shelley and the author of the IMITATION should both have been keen and simple enough to perceive these flights； and to guess at the order of this periodicity。 Both souls were in close touch with the spirits of their several worlds； and no deliberate human roles； no infractions of the liberty and law of the universal movement； kept from them the knowledge of recurrences。 Eppur simuove。 They knew that presence does not exist without absence； they knew that what is just upon its flight of farewell is already on its long path of return。 They knew that what is approaching to the very touch is hastening towards departure。书 包 网 txt小说上传分享
人生的节奏（3）
“O wind；” cried Shelley； in autumn； “O wind； If winter es； can spring be far behind？ ”
They knew that the flux is equal to the reflux； that to interrupt with unlawful recurrences； out of time； is to weaken the impulse of onset and retreat； the sweep and impetus of movement。 To live in constant efforts after an equal life； whether the equality be sought in mental production； or in spiritual sweetness； or in the joy of the senses； is to live without either rest or full activity。 The souls of certain of the saints； being singularly simple and single； have been in the most plete subjection to the law of periodicity。 Ecstasy and desolation visited them by seasons。 They endured； during spaces of vacant time； the interior loss of all for which they had sacrificed the world。 They rejoiced in the uncovenanted beatitude of sweetness alighting in their hearts。 Like them are the poets whom； three times or ten times in the course of a long life； the Muse has approached； touched； and forsaken。 And yet hardly like them； not always so docile； nor so wholly prepared for the departure； the brevity； of the golden and irrevocable hour。 Few poets have fully recognised the metrical absence of their Muse。 For full recognition is expressed in one only way—silence。
It has been found that several tribes in Africa and in America worship the moon； and not the sun； a great number worship both； but no tribes are known to adore the sun； and not the moon。 For the periodicity of the sun is still in part a secret； but that of the moon is modestly apparent； perpetually influential。 On her depend the tides； and she is Selene； mother of Harsens； bringer of the dews that recurrently irrigate lands where rain is rare。 More than any other panion of earth is she the Measurer。 Early Indo…Germanic languages knew her by that name。 Her metrical phases are the symbol of the order of recurrence。 Constancy in approach and in departure is the reason of her inconstancies。 Juliet will not receive a vow spoken in invocation of the moon； but Juliet did not live to know that love itself has tidal times—lapses and ebbs which are due to the metrical rule of the interior heart； but which the lover vainly and unkindly attributes to some outward alteration in the beloved。 For man—except those elect already named—is hardly aware of periodicity。 The individual man either never learns it fully； or learns it late。 And he learns it so late； because it is a matter of cumulative experience upon which cumulative evidence is lacking。 It is in the after…part of each life that the law is learnt so definitely as to do away with the hope or fear of continuance。 That young sorrow es so near to despair is a result of this young ignorance。 So is the early hope of great achievement。 Life seems so long； and its capacity so great； to one who knows nothing of all the intervals it needs must hold—intervals between aspirations； between actions； pauses as inevitable as the pauses of sleep。 And life looks impossible to the young unfortunate； unaware of the inevitable and unfailing refreshment。 It would be for their peace to learn that there is a tide in the affairs of men； in a sense more subtle—if it is not too audacious to add a meaning to Shakespeare—than the phrase was meant to contain。 Their joy is flying away from them on its way home； their life will wax and wane； and if they would be wise； they must wake and rest in its phases； knowing that they are ruled by the law that mands all things—a sun’s revolutions and the rhythmic pangs of maternity。
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永恒之脉（1）
威廉？佐拉奇
令人惊奇的是，儿时的某些东西总会给我们留下深刻的印象。我至今还记得朗费罗的几句诗：
“生活是真实的！生命是真诚的！
死亡并非它最终的目标；
你本为尘埃，必归为尘土，
这是指肉体，而非灵魂。”
还有：
“伟人的生命警醒着我们
我们能够高尚地生活，
离开人世的时候，也会
在时间的沙滩上留下我们的足迹。”
诚然，与现在的年轻人相比，我们这代人的情感更为丰富。但是，无论这首诗是否为佳作，它朴素的言辞都传达了一种信息，并在一个小男孩的脑海中留下永久的记忆。
15岁时，我幻想着自己拥有一个守护天使。每当周末去乡间写生时，我会请求它的指引，祈祷某天能够成为一名伟大的艺术家，描绘出大自然最真实的美丽。这一小小的祈祷带给了我对世界的信仰和对自己的信心。
然而，我的信仰与信心遇到了严峻的考验。核武器时代让我们陷入了恐慌，我们的生命也似乎危在旦夕。人类的潜能与价值无法发挥出来，这也近乎是一种浪费。有时，我会想，万物的生存皆是一种奇迹。但是我坚信，有一种“永恒之脉”始终贯穿着天地万物，最具价值的遗产将会永存。
我相信，无论用怎样的方式，每个人都渴望将自己的生命融入这条“永恒之脉”。这就是生命的动力，也有人称它为永恒的动力。我想，无论它是什么，都是有益的，因为它赋予了我们生存的目标。不过，只有目标还远远不够。在人们眼中，艺术家总会不切实际地空想，但就我自己而言，我发现在创造任何艺术作品之前，都必须作出决定和计划。我知道，我不仅要带着敏锐的