Poem in Prose - The Artist

闲过信陵饮

不好意思，好久没来这里交作业了，今天开始连载王尔德的散文诗和童话，大家不要和我抢哦～～<br>
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The Artist<br>By Oscar Wilde<br>
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One evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image<br>
of The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment. And he went forth into<br>
the world to look for bronze. For he could think only in bronze.<br>
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But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared, nor anywhere<br>
in the whole world was there any bronze to be found, save only the<br>
bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for Ever.<br>
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Now this image he had himself, and with his own hands, fashioned,<br>
and had set it on the tomb of the one thing he had loved in life.<br>
On the tomb of the dead thing he had most loved had he set this<br>
image of his own fashioning, that it might serve as a sign of the<br>
love of man that dieth not, and a symbol of the sorrow of man that<br>
endureth for ever. And in the whole world there was no other bronze<br>
save the bronze of this image.<br>
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And he took the image he had fashioned, and set it in a great<br>
furnace, and gave it to the fire.<br>
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And out of the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for<br>
Ever he fashioned an image of The Pleasure that abideth for a<br>
Moment.<br>
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