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Beauty I gazed upon thy face—-and beating life, Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast And every thought whose being was a strife Each in its silent chamber sank to rest; I was not, save it were a thought of thee, The world was but a spot where thou hadst trod, From every star thy glance seemed fix on me, Almost I loved thee better than my God. And still I gaze—-but ‘tis a holier thought Than that in which my spirit lived before, Each star a purer ray of love has caught, Earth wears a lovelier robe than then it wore, And every lamp that burns around thy shrine I fed with fire whose fountain is Divine. Jones Very's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1357 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |