The Ballad of Reading Gaol
by
Oscar Wilde
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine# were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And 7his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellow's got to swing."
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel
And the sky above my head
became Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little,some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,

Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place
He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.
He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.
He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
Fingering a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.
He does not kno5w that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,

And binds one with three leathern thongs,
That the throat may thirst no more.
He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves into the hideous shed.
He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.

《瑞丁监狱之歌》
奥斯卡·王尔德
他没有穿那件猩红外套，
血液和葡萄酒已经足够
他的手上沾满了它们
他的爱人被谋杀在床边
可怜的无辜的爱人
他呆坐在她的面前
他将要接受审判
破旧的上衣
头顶的板球帽
遮盖不了他步履中的飘摇
我从未见过如此满怀忧愁的双眼
让人此生再难以忘怀
透过头顶那片狭窄的天空
银色的流动的浮云在囚徒们眼前闪现
我与其他痛苦的灵魂一起
离开，进入另一个牢圈
我想知道他是否做过
不管是重罪还是轻判
一个声音从身后传来，
在耳畔低语
“他应该被绞死！ 万能的主！”
无尽的牢狱高墙
突然间似乎也在摇晃
我头顶上遥远的苍穹
也变成犹如滚钢铸造的盔帽
即便我是一个痛苦的灵魂
对那折磨也丝毫无感

我仅仅明白那个诡异的念头
加快了他的步伐，也明白
他为何要活着面对这世俗的一天
带着那种忧愁的眼神
他的所爱在他的手中毁灭
他只能以生命相还
可是，
每个人都在毁灭他的所爱
你不妨听听他们每个人的方式
一些人用他们恶毒的双眼，
一些人使用阿谀奉承的花言，
懦夫毁会凑上轻轻的一吻
勇者直接拔出锋利的刀剑
有人毁所爱时尚且年少
有人毁所爱时已然年老
有人被欲望之手操纵着进残杀
有人借着财富之力实施屠戮
只有仁慈的人才使用利刃
使得死者可以瞬间冰冷
有人爱得太深，
有人爱的太浅，
有人进行出卖，
有人从事收买
有人毁所爱时泪流满面
有人毁所爱时没有丝毫感叹

却未必每个人都受死亡的审判
他并非死于羞耻
在一个黑暗的蒙羞之日
脖子上没有绞索束缚
脸上也没有蒙上黑布
双脚没有站上地板上的那个洞穴
等着死神的降落
他远离了那些沉默的人群
那些时刻监视着的人们
他们监视他不让他哭泣
他们监视他不让他祈祷
他们唯恐他独自了断
释放监牢里这个囚犯
黎明破晓前他没有睁开双眼
骇人的身影挤满他的房间
身着白袍的牧师瑟瑟发抖，
司法长官阴沉着脸，
狱长的黑衣仿佛在闪着光亮
蜡黄的颜色预示了判决
他没有在仓促中可怜兮兮的起床
穿上那代表罪行的衣裳
满嘴恶毒的医生处在一旁
每一个动作都放出幸灾乐祸的目光
时钟滴滴答答地走过
每一声都像落地的铁锤令人恐慌
他没有意识到那难耐的口渴
把人的喉咙荒芜成沙漠
侩子手马上就要带上行刑的手套
悄无声息地走过装着厚垫的门道

每只手绑上三个皮索
扼住的喉咙也许不会再感到干渴
他没有俯首倾听
牧师宣读的安魂令
痛苦的灵魂在煎熬中
看到了它未完的生命
当他走过可怕的刑场，
看见棺木伫立一旁
他没有透过狭窄的玻璃屋顶
仰望头顶的天空
他没有用枯裂的嘴唇祈祷
尽快摆脱临死的痛苦
他战栗的面颊
无法感知
盖法亚的轻吻

关于奥斯卡的唯美主义
做父亲时的他为儿子写下了9篇美丽的童话。一次，王尔德给儿子讲《自私的巨人》，竟然情不自禁哭了起来。儿子问他为什么哭了，王尔德说，真正美丽的事物总会使他流下眼泪。
有一则趣闻说： 伦敦，有一个衣衫褴褛的乞丐在王尔德窗下拉小提琴，王尔德看见了很生气。"贫穷也应该是优美的。"于是他请来伦敦最好的裁缝，为乞丐做了一身价格不菲、剪裁精美的衣服。服装做成以后，王尔德亲手用粉笔画出几个地方，叫裁缝剪出豁口。于是，从此以后就有一个穿着漂亮燕尾服的乞丐在他窗下拉小提琴。
他是一个为美痴狂的人，他怕死亡，他怕衰老，他喜欢美少年，却都不曾妨害过他人。包括那个同白罂粟般额百合恋人

先到这里吧…如果有人看到就冒个泡吧…

唉…至少假期了不至于完全没人了吧……

等着更新

趁着课间来一发】
在王尔德生活的英国，比法国还要保守，同性恋的生存状态可想而知。