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Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) The Voice of the Crutch I am the voice of the crutch, And over the whole world's noise The new world rising from the blood-stained dust And ashes, and smouldering ember-- Over earth's pæan of hopes and joys, And its reborn faith and trust, My voice shall be saying 'Remember,' With my thump, thump, thump, I shall say to the world 'Remember.' I shall thump my wearisome way Down over decades to be; My voice will be heard for threescore years, A dissonant note in life's measure. A jarring refrain in its song of glee That will change youth's laughter to tears, And shadow its moments of pleasure. With my thump, thump, thump, I shall shadow earth's moments of pleasure. All over the whole wide world, As I thump out my note of pain, The cry of the maimed and blind and deaf Shall into a chorus swell it; For the voice of Peace cannot utter a strain That shall drown war's story of sin and grief, And mine is the task to tell it. With my thump, thump, thump, I shall go through the world and tell it. I shall tell the story of war, And murder and lust and wrong; Of deeds too dark to be given name; Of children sired by a sabre; And a hybrid race will join in my song, While a sad world listens in shame As it bends to its peaceful labour. With my thump, thump, thump, I will sing to it in its labour. I would hinder the growing world As it hurries along in the race And builds for beauty and peace, From thinking of war as glory. I would have it look war in the face With a horror that cannot cease Through knowing the truth of the story. With my thump, thump, thump, I will tell to the last that story. Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1371 |
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