卡尔松纯英文原版的--假如给我三天光明 word版

2021年1月22日发(作者：欺侮)
Three Days to See
Helen Keller

All
of us have read thrilling stories in
which the hero had only a limited and
specified
time
to
live.
Sometimes
it
was
as
long
as
a
year;
sometimes
as
short
as
twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed
man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who
have
a
choice,
not
condemned
criminals
whose
sphere
of
activities
is
strictly
delimited.
Such
stories
set
us
thinking,
wondering
what
we
should
do
under
similar
circumstances.
What
events,
what
experiences,
what
associations
should
we
crowd
into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing
the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we
should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We
should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which
are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days
and
months
and
years
to
come.
There
are
those,
of
course,
who
would
adopt
the
Epicurean mott
o of “Eat, drink, and be merry,”
but most people would be chastened
by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of
fortune,
but
almost
always
his
sense
of
values
is
changed.
He
becomes
more
appreciative
of
the
meaning
of
life
and
its
permanent
spiritual
values.
It
has
often
been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow
sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die,
but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health,
death
is
all
but
unimaginable.
We
seldom
think
of
it.
The
days
stretch
out
in
an

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endless
vista.
So
we
go
about
our
petty
tasks,
hardly
aware
of
our
listless
attitude
toward life.
The
same
lethargy,
I
am
afraid,
characterizes
the
use
of
all
our
faculties
and
senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings
that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight
and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or
hearing
seldom
make
the
fullest
use
of
these
blessed
faculties.
Their
eyes
and
ears
take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation.
It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not
being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken
blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would
make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.
Now
and
then
I
have
tested
my
seeing
friends
to
discover
what
they
see.
Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk
in
the
woods,
and
I
asked
her
what
she
had
observed.
“Nothing
in
particular,”

she
replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses,
for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and
see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me
through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly
about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the
spring
I
touch
the
branches
of
trees
hopefully
in
search
of
a
bud
the
first
sign
of
awakening Nature after her winter’s sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a
flower,
and
discover
its
remarkable
convolutions;
and
something
of
the
miracle
of
Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently
on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have
the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine
needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me

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the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams
through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so
much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight.
Yet,
those
who
have
eyes
apparently
see
little.
The
panorama
of
color
and
action
which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that
which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the
world
of light
the
gift of sight
is
used only as a mere
convenience rather than as a
means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in
“How to Use Your Eyes
.
”
The professor would try to show his pupils how they could
add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would
try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps
I
can
best
illustrate
by
imagining
what
I
should
most
like
to
see
if
I
were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining,
suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your
own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of
the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you
spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your
gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me
through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things
that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with
you
into the night that loomed before you.
If,
by
some
miracle,
I
were
granted
three
seeing
days,
to
be
followed
by
a
relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.





The First Day






On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness

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and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long
upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I
was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the
outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and
find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which
she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes
that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties,
and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that “Window
of the
soul“, the eye. I can only “see”
through my finger tips the outline of a face. I
can
detect
laughter,
sorrow,
and
many
other
obvious
emotions.
I
know
my
friends
from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I
know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts
they
express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied
that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them,
through
watching
their
reactions
to
various
expressed
thoughts
and
circumstances,
through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years
they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an
incomplete impression, an impression gained from
a handclasp, from
spoken words
which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my
hand.

How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp
quickly
the
essential
qualities
of
another
person
by
watching
the
subtleties
of
expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you
to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance? Do not most
of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance, can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? Some
of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long
standing
about
the
color
of
their
wives’
eyes,
and
often
they
express
embarrassed

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confusion
and
admit
that
they
do
not
know.
And,
incidentally,
it
is
a
chronic
complaint
of
wives
that
their
husbands
do
not
notice
new
dresses,
new
hats,
and
changes in household arrangements.
The
eyes
of
seeing
persons
soon
become
accustomed
to
the
routine
of
their
surroundings,
and
they
actually
see
only
the
startling
and
spectacular.
But
even
in
viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day
how inaccurately “eyewitnesses”
s
ee. A given event will be “seen”
in several different
ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is
within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear friends and
look
long
into
their
faces,
imprinting
upon
my
mind
the
outward
evidences
of
the
beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that
I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes
the individual’s
consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs
–
the grave,
canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose
warm, tender, and playful friendships are so comforting to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I
want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the
intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on
the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested
in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life
the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves
into
a
great
shining
lighthouse,
revealing
to
me
the
deepest
channels
of
human
life
and the human spirit.
In the afternoon of that first seeing day, I should take a long walk in the woods
and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature, trying desperately to
absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those
who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a

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