在手机上保存，获得更好体验
After the Funeral - Dylan Thomas
After the funeral mule praises brays
Windshake of sailshaped ears muffle-toed tap
Tap happily of one peg in the thick
Grave's foot blinds down the lids the teeth in black
The spittled eyes the salt ponds in the sleeves
Morning smack of the spade that wakes up sleep
Shakes a desolate boy who slits his throat
In the dark of the coffin and sheds dry leaves
That breaks one bone to light with a judgment clout
After the feast of tear-stuffed time and thistles
In a room with a stuffed fox and a stale fern
I stand for this memorial's sake alone
In the snivelling hours with dead humped ann
Whose hodded fountain heart once fell in puddles
Round the parched worlds of wales and drowned each sun
Though this for her is a monstrous image blindly
Magnified out of praise her death was a still drop
She would not have me sinking in the holy
Flood of her heart's fame she would lie dumb and deep
And need no druid of her broken body
But I ann's bard on a raised hearth call all
The seas to service that her wood-tongued virtue
Babble like a bellbuoy over the hymning heads
Bow down the walls of the ferned and foxy woods
That her love sing and swing through a brown chapel
Blees her bent spirit with four crossing birds
Her flesh was meek as milk but this skyward statue
With the wild breast and blessed and giant skull
Is carved from her in a room with a wet window
In a fiercely mourning house in a crooked year
I know her scrubbed and sour humble hands
Lie with religion in their cramp her threadbare
Whisper in a damp word her wits drilled hollow
Her fist of a face died clenched on a round pain
And sculptured ann is seventy years of stone
These cloud-sopped marble hands this monumental
Argument of the hewn voice gesture and psalm
Storm me forever over her grave until
The stuffed lung of the fox twitch and cry love
And the strutting fern lay seeds on the black sill
