英文人生名篇 - 第一篇：A Grain of Sand/ 一粒沙子William Blake/威廉.布莱克To see a world in a grain of sand,And a heaven in a wild fllower,Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,And eternity in an hour.从一粒沙子看到一个世界，从一朵野花看到一个天堂，把握在你手心里的就是无限，永恒也就消融于一个时辰。全诗Auguries of Innocence To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons Shudders hell through all its regions. A dog starved at his masters gate Predicts the ruin of the state. A horse misused upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-cock clipped and armed for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolfs and lions howl Raises from hell a human soul. The wild deer wandering here and there Keeps the human soul from care. The lamb misused breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butchers knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that wont believe. The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbelievers fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men. He who the ox to wrath has moved Shall never be by woman loved. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spiders enmity. He who torments the chafers sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mothers grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgment draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggars dog and widows cat, Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summers song Poison gets from Slanders tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of Envys foot. The poison of the honey-bee Is the artists jealousy. The princes robes and beggars rags Are toadstools on the misers bags. A truth thats told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so: Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The babe is more than swaddling bands, Throughout all these human lands; Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands. Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in eternity; This is caught by females bright And returned to its own delight. The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar Are waves that beat on heavens shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes Revenge! in realms of death. The beggars rags fluttering in air Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier armed with sword and gun Palsied strikes the summers sun. The poor mans farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Africs shore. One mite wrung from the labourers hands Shall buy and sell the misers lands, Or if protected from on high Does that whole nation sell and buy. He who mocks the infants faith Shall be mocked in age and death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall neer get out. He who respects the infants faith Triumphs over hell and death. The childs toys and the old mans reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner who sits so sly Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesars laurel crown. Nought can deform the human race Like to the armours iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plough To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. A riddle or the crickets cry Is to doubt a fit reply. The emmets inch and eagles mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will neer believe, do what you please. If the sun and moon should doubt, Theyd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. The whore and gambler, by the state Licensed, build that nations fate. The harlots cry from street to street Shall weave old Englands winding sheet. The winners shout, the losers curse, Dance before dead Englands hearse. Every night and every morn Some to misery are born. Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not th