Edwin Muir

　　Barely a twelvemonth after

　　The seven days war that put the world to sleep,

　　Late in the evening the strange horses came.

　　By then we had made our covenant with silence,

　　But in the first few days it was so still

　　We listened to our breathing and were afraid.

　　On the second day

　　The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.

　　On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,

　　Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day

　　A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter

　　Nothing. The radios dumb;

　　And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,

　　And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms

　　All over the world. But now if they should speak,

　　If on a sudden they should speak again,

　　If on the stroke of noon a voice should speak,

　　We would not listen, we would not let it bring

　　马群

　　That old bad world that swallowed its children quick

　　At one great gulp. We would not have it again.

　　Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep,

　　Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow,

　　And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness.

　　The tractors lie about our fields; at evening

　　They look like dank sea-monsters couched and waiting.

　　We leave them where they are and let them rust:

　　'They'll molder away and be like other loam.'

　　We make our oxen drag our rusty plows,

　　Long laid aside. We have gone back

　　Far past our fathers' land.

　　And then, that evening

　　Late in the summer the strange horses came.

　　We heard a distant tapping on the road,

　　A deepening drumming; it stopped, went on again

　　And at the corner changed to hollow thunder.

　　We saw the heads

　　Like a wild wave charging and were afraid.

　　We had sold our horses in our fathers' time

　　To buy new tractors. Now they were strange to us

　　As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield.

　　Or illustrations in a book of knights.

　　We did not dare go near them. Yet they waited,

　　Stubborn and shy, as if they had been sent

　　By an old command to find our whereabouts

　　And that long-lost archaic companionship.

　　In the first moment we had never a thought

　　That they were creatures to be owned and used.

　　Among them were some half a dozen colts

　　Dropped in some wilderness of the broken world,

　　Yet new as if they had come from their own Eden.

　　Since then they have pulled our plows and borne our loads

　　But that free servitude still can pierce our hearts.

　　Our life is changed; their coming our beginning.