The art that is most profound and most touching7 must ever be the simplest. Whenever ?schylus, Dante, Shakspere, Milton, are at white heat they require no exposition, but meditation8 only--the meditation akin9 to the sentiment of little children who listen, intent upon every syllable10, and passionately11 eager of soul, to hearth-side tragedies. The play of genius is like the movement of the sea. It has its solemn rhythm: its joy, irradiate of the sun; its melancholy12, in the patient moonlight: its surge and turbulence13 under passing tempests: below all, the deep oceanic music. There are, of course, many to whom the sea is but a waste of water, at best useful as a highway and as the nursery of the winds and rains. For them there is no hint "of the incommunicable dream" in the curve of the rising wave, no murmur14 of the oceanic undertone in the short leaping sounds, invisible things that laugh and clap their hands for joy and are no more. To them it is but a desert: obscure, imponderable, a weariness. The "profundity15" of Browning, so dear a claim in the eyes of the poet's fanatical admirers, exists, in their sense, only in his inferior work. There is more profound insight in Blake's Song of Innocence16, "Piping down the valleys wild," or in Wordsworth's line, "Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears," or in Keats' single verse, "There is a budding morrow in midnight," or in this quatrain on Poetry, by a young living poet--
"She comes like the husht beauty of the night,
But sees too deep for laughter;
Her touch is a vibration18 and a light
From worlds before and after--"
there is more "profundity" in any of these than in libraries of "Sludge the Medium" literature. Mere hard thinking does not involve profundity, any more than neurotic19 excitation involves spiritual ecstasy20. De profundis, indeed, must the poet come: there must the deep rhythm of life have electrified21 his "volatile22 essence" to a living rhythmic23 joy. In this deep sense, and this only, the poet is born, not made. He may learn to fashion anew that which he hath seen: the depth of his insight depends upon the depth of his spiritual heritage. If wonder dwell not in his eyes and soul there can be no "far ken24" for him. Here it seems apt to point out that Browning was the first writer of our day to indicate this transmutive, this inspired and inspiring wonder-spirit, which is the deepest motor in the evolution of our modern poetry. Characteristically, he puts his utterance25 into the mouth of a dreamy German student, the shadowy Schramm who is but metaphysics embodied26, metaphysics finding apt expression in tobacco-smoke: "Keep but ever looking, whether with the body's eye or the mind's, and you will soon find something to look on! Has a man done wondering at women?--there follow men, dead and alive, to wonder at. Has he done wondering at men?--there's God to wonder at: and the faculty27 of wonder may be, at the same time, old and tired enough with respect to its first object, and yet young and fresh sufficiently28, so far as concerns its novel one."
This wonder is akin to that 'insanity29' of the poet which is but impassioned sanity30. Plato sums the matter when he says, "He who, having no touch of the Muse's madness in his soul, comes to the door and thinks he will get into the temple by the help of Art--he, I say, and his poetry, are not admitted."
In that same wood beyond Dulwich to which allusion has already been made, the germinal motive31 of "Pippa Passes" flashed upon the poet. No wonder this resort was for long one of his sacred places, and that he lamented32 its disappearance33 as fervently34 as Ruskin bewailed the encroachment35 of the ocean of bricks and mortar36 upon the wooded privacies of Denmark Hill.
Save for a couple of brief visits abroad, Browning spent the years, between his first appearance as a dramatic writer and his marriage, in London and the neighbourhood. Occasionally he took long walks into the country. One particular pleasure was to lie beside a hedge, or deep in meadow-grasses, or under a tree, as circumstances and the mood concurred37, and there to give himself up so absolutely to the life of the moment that even the shy birds would alight close by, and sometimes venturesomely poise38 themselves on suspicious wings for a brief space upon his recumbent body. I have heard him say that his faculty of observation at that time would not have appeared despicable to a Seminole or an Iroquois: he saw and watched everything, the bird on the wing, the snail39 dragging its shell up the pendulous40 woodbine, the bee adding to his golden treasure as he swung in the bells of the campanula, the green fly darting41 hither and thither42 like an animated43 seedling44, the spider weaving her gossamer45 from twig46 to twig, the woodpecker heedfully scrutinising the lichen48 on the gnarled oak-hole, the passage of the wind through leaves or across grass, the motions and shadows of the clouds, and so forth49. These were his golden holidays. Much of the rest of his time, when not passed in his room in his father's house, where he wrote his dramas and early poems, and studied for hours daily, was spent in the Library of the British Museum, in an endless curiosity into the more or less unbeaten tracks of literature. These London experiences were varied50 by whole days spent at the National Gallery, and in communion with kindred spirits. At one time he had rooms, or rather a room, in the immediate51 neighbourhood of the Strand52, whither he could go when he wished to be in town continuously for a time, or when he had any social or theatrical53 engagement.
Browning's life at this period was distraught by more than one episode of the heart. It would be strange were it otherwise. He had in no ordinary degree a rich and sensuous54 nature, and his responsiveness was so quick that the barriers of prudence55 were apt to be as shadowy to him as to the author of "The Witch of Atlas56." But he was the earnest student for the most part, and, above all, the poet. His other pleasure, in his happy vagrant57 days, was to join company with any tramps, gipsies, or other wayfarers58, and in good fellowship gain much knowledge of life that was useful at a later time. Rustic59 entertainments, particularly peripatetic60 "Theatres Royal," had a singular fascination61 for him, as for that matter had rustic oratory62, whether of the alehouse or the pulpit. At one period he took the keenest interest in sectaries of all kinds: and often he incurred64 a gentle reproof65 from his mother because of his nomad66 propensities67 in search of "pastors68 new." There was even a time when he seriously deliberated whether he should not combine literature and religious ministry69, as Faraday combined evangelical fervour with scientific enthusiasm. "'Twas a girl with eyes like two dreams of night" that saved him from himself, and defrauded70 the Church Independent of a stalwart orator63.
It was, as already stated, while he strolled through Dulwich Wood one day that the thought occurred to him which was to find development and expression in "Pippa Passes." "The image flashed upon him," writes his intimate friend, Mrs. Sutherland Orr, "of some one walking thus alone through life; one apparently71 too obscure to leave a trace of his or her passage, yet exercising a lasting72 though unconscious influence at every step of it; and the image shaped itself into the little silk-winder of Asolo, Felippa or Pippa."
It has always seemed to me a radical73 mistake to include "Pippa Passes" among Browning's dramas. Not only is it absolutely unactable, but essentially74 undramatic in the conventional sense. True dramatic writing concerns itself fundamentally with the apt conjunction of events, and the more nearly it approximates to the verity75 of life the more likely is it to be of immediate appeal. There is a vraie vérité which only the poet, evolving from dramatic concepts rather than attempting to concentrate these in a quick, moving verisimilitude, can attempt. The passing hither and thither of Pippa, like a beneficent Fate, a wandering chorus from a higher amid the discordant76 medley77 of a lower world, changing the circumstances and even the natures of certain more or less heedless listeners by the wild free lilt of her happy song of innocence, is of this vraie vérité. It is so obviously true, spiritually, that it is unreal in the commonplace of ordinary life. Its very effectiveness is too apt for the dramatist, who can ill afford to tamper78 further with the indifferent banalities of actual existence. The poet, unhampered by the exigencies79 of dramatic realism, can safely, and artistically81, achieve an equally exact, even a higher verisimilitude, by means which are, or should be, beyond adoption82 by the dramatist proper.
But over and above any 'nice discrimination,' "Pippa Passes" is simply a poem, a lyrical masque with interspersed84 dramatic episodes, and subsidiary interludes in prose. The suggestion recently made that it should be acted is a wholly errant one. The finest part of it is unrepresentable. The rest would consist merely of a series of tableaux85, with conversational86 accompaniment.
The opening scene, "the large mean airy chamber," where Pippa, the little silk-winder from the mills at Asolo, springs from bed, on her New Year's Day festa, and soliloquises as she dresses, is as true as it is lovely when viewed through the rainbow glow of the poetic87 atmosphere: but how could it succeed on the stage? It is not merely that the monologue88 is too long: it is too inapt, in its poetic richness, for its purpose. It is the poet, not Pippa, who evokes89 this sweet sunrise-music, this strain of the "long blue solemn hours serenely90 flowing." The dramatic poet may occupy himself with that deeper insight, and the wider expression of it, which is properly altogether beyond the scope of the playwright91. In a word, he may irradiate his theme with the light that never was on sea or land, nor will he thereby92 sacrifice aught of essential truth: but his comrade must see to it that he is content with the wide liberal air of the common day. The poetic alchemist may turn a sword into pure gold: the playwright will concern himself with the due usage of the weapon as we know it, and attribute to it no transcendent value, no miraculous93 properties. What is permissible94 to Blake, painting Adam and Eve among embowering roses and lilies, while the sun, moon, and stars simultaneously95 shine, is impermissible to the portrait-painter or the landscapist, who has to idealise actuality to the point only of artistic80 realism, and not to transmute96 it at the outset from happily-perceived concrete facts to a glorified97 abstract concept.
In this opening monologue the much-admired song, "All service ranks the same with God," is no song at all, properly, but simply a beautiful short poem. From the dramatist's point of view, could anything be more shaped for disaster than the second of the two stanzas98?--
"Say not 'a small event!' Why 'small'?
Costs it more pain than this, ye call
A 'great event,' should come to pass,
Than that? Untwine me from the mass
Of deeds which make up life, one deed
Power shall fall short in or exceed!"
The whole of this lovely prologue99 is the production of a dramatic poet, not of a poet writing a drama. On the other hand, I cannot agree with what I read somewhere recently--that Sebald's song, at the opening of the most superb dramatic writing in the whole range of Victorian literature, is, in the circumstances, wholly inappropriate. It seems to me entirely100 consistent with the character of Ottima's reckless lover. He is akin to the gallant101 in one of Dumas' romances, who lingered atop of the wall of the prison whence he was escaping in order to whistle the concluding bar of a blithe102 chanson of freedom. What is, dramatically, disastrous103 in the instance of Mertoun singing "There's a woman like a dewdrop," when he ought to be seeking Mildred's presence in profound stealth and silence, is, dramatically, electrically startling in the mouth of Sebald, among the geraniums of the shuttered shrub-house, where he has passed the night with Ottima, while her murdered husband lies stark104 in the adjoining room.
It must, however, be borne in mind that this thrilling dramatic effect is fully47 experienced only in retrospection, or when there is knowledge of what is to follow.
A conclusive105 objection to the drama as an actable play is that three of the four main episodes are fragmentary. We know nothing of the fate of Luigi: we can but surmise106 the future of Jules and Phené: we know not how or when Monsignor will see Pippa righted. Ottima and Sebald reach a higher level in voluntary death than they ever could have done in life.
It is quite unnecessary, here, to dwell upon this exquisite107 flower of genius in detail. Every one who knows Browning at all knows "Pippa Passes." Its lyrics108 have been unsurpassed, for birdlike spontaneity and a rare high music, by any other Victorian poet: its poetic insight is such as no other poet than the author of "The Ring and the Book" and "The Inn Album" can equal. Its technique, moreover, is superb. From the outset of the tremendous episode of Ottima and Sebald, there is a note of tragic109 power which is almost overwhelming. Who has not known what Jakob Boehme calls "the shudder110 of a divine excitement" when Luca's murderer replies to his paramour,
"morning?
It seems to me a night with a sun added."
How deep a note, again, is touched when Sebald exclaims, in allusion to his murder of Luca, that he was so "wrought111 upon," though here, it may be, there is an unconscious reminiscence of the tenser and more culminative cry of Othello, "but being wrought, perplext in the extreme." Still more profound a touch is that where Ottima, daring her lover to the "one thing that must be done; you know what thing: Come in and help to carry," says, with affected112 lightsomeness, "This dusty pane113 might serve for looking-glass," and simultaneously exclaims, as she throws them rejectingly from her nervous fingers, "Three, four--four grey hairs!" then with an almost sublime114 coquetry of horror turns abruptly115 to Sebald, saying with a voice striving vainly to be blithe--
"Is it so you said
A plait of hair should wave across my neck?
No--this way."
Who has not been moved by the tragic grandeur116 of the verse, as well as by the dramatic intensity117 of the episode of the lovers' "crowning night"?
"Ottima. The day of it too, Sebald!
When heaven's pillars seemed o'erbowed with heat,
Its black-blue canopy118 suffered descend119
Close on us both, to weigh down each to each,
And smother120 up all life except our life.
So lay we till the storm came.
Sebald. How it came!
Ottima. Buried in woods we lay, you recollect121;
Swift ran the searching tempest overhead;
And ever and anon some bright white shaft122
Burned thro' the pine-tree roof, here burned and there,
As if God's messenger thro' the close wood screen
Plunged123 and replunged his weapon at a venture,
Feeling for guilty thee and me: then broke
The thunder like a whole sea overhead ----"
Surely there is nothing in all our literature more poignantly124 dramatic than this first part of "Pippa Passes." The strains which Pippa sings here and throughout are as pathetically fresh and free as a thrush's song in the heart of a beleaguered125 city, and as with the same unconsidered magic. There is something of the mavis-note, liquid falling tones, caught up in a moment in joyous126 caprice, in
"Give her but a least excuse to love me!
When--where----"
No one of these songs, all acutely apt to the time and the occasion, has a more overwhelming effect than that which interrupts Ottima and Sebald at the perilous127 summit of their sin, beyond which lies utter darkness, behind which is the narrow twilit backward way.
"Ottima. Bind128 it thrice about my brow;
Crown me your queen, your spirit's arbitress,
Magnificent in sin. Say that!
Sebald.I crown you
My great white queen, my spirit's arbitress,
Magnificent..
[From without is heard the voice of PIPPA singing--]
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!
[PIPPA passes,
Sebald.God's in his heaven! Do you hear that?
Who spoke129?"
This sweet voice of Pippa reaches the guilty lovers, reaches Luigi in his tower, hesitating between love and patriotic130 duty, reaches Jules and Phené when all the happiness of their unborn years trembles in the balance, reaches the Prince of the Church just when his conscience is sore beset131 by a seductive temptation, reaches one and all at a crucial moment in the life of each. The ethical132 lesson of the whole poem is summed up in
"All service ranks the same with God--
With God, whose puppets, best and worst,
Are we: there is no last nor first,"
and in
"God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!"
"With God there is no lust133 of Godhood," says Rossetti in "Hand and Soul": Und so ist der blaue Himmel grosser als jedes Gew?lk darin, und dauerhafter dazu, meditates134 Jean Paul: "There can be nothing good, as we know it, nor anything evil, as we know it, in the eye of the Omnipresent and the Omniscient," utters the Oriental mystic.
It is interesting to know that many of the nature touches were indirectly135 due to the poet's solitary136 rambles138, by dawn, sundown, and "dewy eve," in the wooded districts south of Dulwich, at Hatcham, and upon Wimbledon Common, whither he was often wont139 to wander and to ramble137 for hours, and where he composed one day the well-known lines upon Shelley, with many another unrecorded impulse of song. Here, too, it was, that Carlyle, riding for exercise, was stopped by 'a beautiful youth,' who introduced himself as one of the philosopher's profoundest admirers.
It was from the Dulwich wood that, one afternoon in March, he saw a storm glorified by a double rainbow of extraordinary beauty; a memorable140 vision, recorded in an utterance of Luigi to his mother: here too that, in autumnal dusks, he saw many a crescent moon with "notched141 and burning rim83." He never forgot the bygone "sunsets and great stars" he saw in those days of his fervid142 youth. Browning remarked once that the romance of his life was in his own soul; and on another occasion I heard him smilingly add, to some one's vague assertion that in Italy only was there any romance left, "Ah, well, I should like to include poor old Camberwell!" Perhaps he was thinking of his lines in "Pippa Passes," of the days when that masterpiece came ebullient143 from the fount of his genius--
"May's warm slow yellow moonlit summer nights--
Gone are they, but I have them in my soul!"
There is all the distinction between "Pippa Passes" and "Sordello" that there is between the Venus of Milos and a gigantic Theban Sphinx. The latter is, it is true, proportionate in its vastness; but the symmetry of mere bulk is not the symmetria prisca of ideal sculpture. I have already alluded144 to "Sordello" as a derelict upon the ocean of poetry. This, indeed, it still seems to me, notwithstanding the well-meaning suasion of certain admirers of the poem who have hoped "I should do it justice," thereby meaning that I should eulogise it as a masterpiece. It is a gigantic effort, of a kind; so is the sustained throe of a wrestling Titan. That the poem contains much which is beautiful is undeniable, also that it is surcharged with winsome145 and profound thoughts and a multitude of will-o'-the-wisp-like fancies which all shape towards high thinking.
But it is monotonous146 as one of the enormous American inland seas to a lover of the ocean, to whom the salt brine is as the breath of delight. The fatal facility of the heroic couplet to lapse147 into diffuseness148, has, coupled with a warped149 anxiety for irreducible concision150, been Browning's ruin here.
There is one charge even yet too frequently made against "Sordello," that of "obscurity." Its interest may be found remote, its treatment verbose151, its intricacies puzzling to those unaccustomed to excursions from the familiar highways of old usage, but its motive thought is not obscure. It is a moonlit plain compared with the "silva oscura" of the "Divina Commedia."
Surely this question of Browning's obscurity was expelled to the Limbo152 of Dead Stupidities when Mr. Swinburne, in periods as resplendent as the whirling wheels of Phoebus Apollo's chariot, wrote his famous incidental passage in his "Essay on Chapman."
Too probably, in the dim disintegrating153 future which will reduce all our o'ertoppling extremes, "Sordello" will be as little read as "The Faerie Queene," and, similarly, only for the gleam of the quenchless154 lamps amid its long deserted155 alleys17 and stately avenues. Sadly enough, for to poets it will always be an unforgotten land--a continent with amaranth-haunted Vales of Tempe, where, as Spenser says in one of the Aeclogues of "The Shepherd's Calendar," they will there oftentimes "sitten as drouned in dreme."
It has, for those who are not repelled156, a charm all its own. I know of no other poem in the language which is at once so wearisome and so seductive. How can one explain paradoxes157? There is a charm, or there is none: that is what it amounts to, for each individual. Tutti ga, i so gusti, e mi go i mii--"everybody follows his taste, and I follow mine," as the Venetian saying, quoted by Browning at the head of his Rawdon Brown sonnet158, has it.
All that need be known concerning the framework of "Sordello," and of the real Sordello himself, will be found in the various Browning hand-books, in Mr. Nettleship's and other dissertations159, and, particularly, in Mrs. Ball's most circumspect160 and able historical essay. It is sufficient here to say that while the Sordello and Palma of the poet are traceable in the Cunizza and the strange comet-like Sordello of the Italian and Proven?al Chronicles (who has his secure immortality161, by Dante set forth in leonine guise--a guisa di leon quando si posa--in the "Purgatorio"), both these are the most shadowy of prototypes. The Sordello of Browning is a typical poetic soul: the narrative162 of the incidents in the development of this soul is adapted to the historical setting furnished by the aforesaid Chronicles. Sordello is a far more profound study than Aprile in "Paracelsus," in whom, however, he is obviously foreshadowed. The radical flaw in his nature is that indicated by Goethe of Heine, that "he had no heart." The poem is the narrative of his transcendent aspirations163, and more or less futile164 accomplishment165.
It would be vain to attempt here any adequate excerption166 of lines of singular beauty. Readers familiar with the poem will recall passage after passage--among which there is probably none more widely known than the grandiose167 sunset lines:--
"That autumn eve was stilled:
A last remains168 of sunset dimly burned
O'er the far forests,--like a torch-flame turned
By the wind back upon its bearer's hand
In one long flare169 of crimson170; as a brand,
The woods beneath lay black." ...
What haunting lines there are, every here and there--such as those of Palma, with her golden hair like spilt sunbeams, or those on Elys, with her
"Few fine locks
Coloured like honey oozed171 from topmost rocks
Sun-blanched the livelong summer," ...
or these,
"Day by day
New pollen172 on the lily-petal grows,
And still more labyrinthine173 buds the rose----"
or, once more,
"A touch divine----
And the sealed eyeball owns the mystic rod;
Visibly through his garden walketh God----"
But, though sorely tempted174, I must not quote further, save only the concluding lines of the unparalleled and impassioned address to Dante:--
"Dante, pacer of the shore
Where glutted175 hell disgorgeth filthiest176 gloom,
Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume,
Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope
Into a darkness quieted by hope;
Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God's eye
In gracious twilights where his chosen lie----"
It is a fair land, for those who have lingered in its byways: but, alas177, a troubled tide of strange metres, of desperate rhythms, of wild conjunctions, of panic-stricken collocations, oftentimes overwhelms it. "Sordello" grew under the poet's fashioning till, like the magic vapour of the Arabian wizard, it passed beyond his control, "voluminously vast."
It is not the truest admirers of what is good in it who will refuse to smile at the miseries178 of conscientious179 but baffled readers. Who can fail to sympathise with Douglas Jerrold when, slowly convalescent from a serious illness, he found among some new books sent him by a friend a copy of "Sordello." Thomas Powell, writing in 1849, has chronicled the episode. A few lines, he says, put Jerrold in a state of alarm. Sentence after sentence brought no consecutive180 thought to his brain. At last the idea occurred to him that in his illness his mental faculties181 had been wrecked182. The perspiration183 rolled from his forehead, and smiting184 his head he sank back on the sofa, crying, "O God, I am an idiot!" A little later, adds Powell, when Jerrold's wife and sister entered, he thrust "Sordello" into their hands, demanding what they thought of it. He watched them intently while they read. When at last Mrs. Jerrold remarked, "I don't understand what this man means; it is gibberish," her delighted husband gave a sigh of relief and exclaimed, "Thank God, I am not an idiot!"
Many friends of Browning will remember his recounting this incident almost in these very words, and his enjoyment185 therein: though he would never admit justification186 for such puzzlement.
But more illustrious personages than Douglas Jerrold were puzzled by the poem. Lord Tennyson manfully tackled it, but he is reported to have admitted in bitterness of spirit: "There were only two lines in it that I understood, and they were both lies; they were the opening and closing lines, 'Who will may hear Sordello's story told,' and 'Who would has heard Sordello's story told!'" Carlyle was equally candid187: "My wife," he writes, "has read through 'Sordello' without being able to make out whether 'Sordello' was a man, or a city, or a book."
In an article on this poem, in a French magazine, M. Odysse Barot quotes a passage where the poet says "God gave man two faculties"--and adds, "I wish while He was about it (pendant qu'il était en train) God had supplied another--viz., the power of understanding Mr. Browning."
And who does not remember the sad experience of generous and delightful188 Gilead P. Beck, in "The Golden Butterfly": how, after "Fifine at the Fair," frightful189 symptoms set in, till in despair he took up "Red Cotton Nightcap Country," and fell for hours into a dull comatose190 misery191. "His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was pushed in disorder192 about his head, his cheeks were flushed, his hands were trembling, the nerves in his face were twitching193. Then he arose, and solemnly cursed Robert Browning. And then he took all his volumes, and, disposing them carefully in the fireplace, set light to them. 'I wish,' he said, 'that I could put the poet there too.'" One other anecdote194 of the kind was often, with evident humorous appreciation195, recounted by the poet. On his introduction to the Chinese Ambassador, as a "brother-poet," he asked that dignitary what kind of poetic expression he particularly affected. The great man deliberated, and then replied that his poetry might be defined as "enigmatic." Browning at once admitted his fraternal kinship.
That he was himself aware of the shortcomings of "Sordello" as a work of art is not disputable. In 1863, Mrs. Orr says, he considered the advisability of "rewriting it in a more transparent196 manner, but concluded that the labour would be disproportionate to the result, and contented197 himself with summarising the contents of each 'book' in a continuous heading, which represents the main thread of the story."
The essential manliness198 of Browning is evident in the famous dedication199 to the French critic Milsand, who was among his early admirers. "My own faults of expression were many; but with care for a man or book such would be surmounted200, and without it what avails the faultlessness of either? I blame nobody, least of all myself, who did my best then and since."
Whatever be the fate of "Sordello," one thing pertinent201 to it shall survive: the memorable sentence in the dedicatory preface--"My stress lay on the incidents in the development of a soul: little else is worth study."
The poem has disastrous faults, but is a magnificent failure. "Vast as night," to borrow a simile202 from Victor Hugo, but, like night, innumerously starred.
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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2
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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plummet
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| vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌；n.铅坠；重压物 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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11
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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18
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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19
neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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20
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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21
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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22
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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23
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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24
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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25
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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26
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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27
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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28
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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29
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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30
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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31
motive
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|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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32
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
disappearance
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|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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34
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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35
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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36
mortar
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|
| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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37
concurred
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| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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38
poise
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|
| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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39
snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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40
pendulous
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|
| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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41
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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42
thither
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|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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43
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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44
seedling
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|
| n.秧苗，树苗 | |
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45
gossamer
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|
| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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46
twig
|
|
| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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47
fully
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|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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48
lichen
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|
| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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49
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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50
varied
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|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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51
immediate
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|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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52
strand
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|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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53
theatrical
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|
| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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54
sensuous
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|
| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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55
prudence
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|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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56
atlas
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|
| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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57
vagrant
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|
| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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58
wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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59
rustic
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|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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60
peripatetic
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|
| adj.漫游的，逍遥派的，巡回的 | |
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61
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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62
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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63
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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64
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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65
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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66
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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67
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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68
pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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69
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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70
defrauded
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|
| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
apparently
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|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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72
lasting
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|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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73
radical
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|
| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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74
essentially
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|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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75
verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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76
discordant
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|
| adj.不调和的 | |
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77
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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78
tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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79
exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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80
artistic
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|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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81
artistically
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|
| adv.艺术性地 | |
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82
adoption
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|
| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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83
rim
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|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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84
interspersed
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|
| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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85
tableaux
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|
| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
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86
conversational
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|
| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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87
poetic
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|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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88
monologue
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|
| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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89
evokes
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90
serenely
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|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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91
playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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92
thereby
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|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
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93
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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94
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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95
simultaneously
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|
| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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96
transmute
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|
| vt.使变化，使改变 | |
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97
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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98
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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99
prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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100
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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101
gallant
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|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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102
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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103
disastrous
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|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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104
stark
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|
| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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105
conclusive
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|
| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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106
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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107
exquisite
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|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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108
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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109
tragic
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|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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110
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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111
wrought
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|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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112
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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113
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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114
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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115
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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116
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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117
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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118
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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119
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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120
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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121
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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122
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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123
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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124
poignantly
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125
beleaguered
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|
| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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126
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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127
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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128
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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129
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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130
patriotic
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|
| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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131
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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132
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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133
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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134
meditates
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的第三人称单数 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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135
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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136
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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137
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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138
rambles
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|
| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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139
wont
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|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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140
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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141
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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142
fervid
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|
| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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143
ebullient
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|
| adj.兴高采烈的，奔放的 | |
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144
alluded
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|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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146
monotonous
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|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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147
lapse
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|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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148
diffuseness
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| 漫射，扩散 | |
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149
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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concision
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| n.简明，简洁 | |
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verbose
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| adj.用字多的；冗长的；累赘的 | |
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limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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154
quenchless
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| 不可熄灭的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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157
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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158
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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159
dissertations
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| 专题论文，学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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162
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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excerption
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| n.选录，抄录，精华录 | |
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grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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171
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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173
labyrinthine
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| adj.如迷宫的；复杂的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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filthiest
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| filthy（肮脏的，污秽的）的最高级形式 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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182
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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183
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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184
smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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185
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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186
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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187
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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188
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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189
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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comatose
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| adj.昏睡的，昏迷不醒的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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194
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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195
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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197
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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198
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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199
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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201
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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