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Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) Worn Out I saw a young heart in the grasp of pain; With bruised breast, and broken, bleeding wing Shipwrecked on hopeless love’s tempestuous main, Lay the poor tortured thing. It pulsed with all the anguish of despair; It ached with all a fond heart’s awful power; Yet I, who stood unhurt above it there, Envied its lot that hour. I, who have wasted all the sacred, deep Emotions of my soul in spendthrift fashion, Until no sorrow now can make me weep-- No joy stir me with passion. I, who have scattered here and there the gold Of my heart’s store, until I spent the whole; Yet unto each so little gave to hold, That I enriched no soul. I, who have sold the birthright of sweet tears, And no more feel a thrill in pulse or brain, Would gladly have exchanged my tasteless years For one salt hour of pain. Weep on, ye mourners. Glory in the cross Of some great grief. Thank God you do not know The greater grief that comes but with the loss Of power to suffer woe. Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1319 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |