Henry Timrod (Генри Тимрод)

Sonnets. 11. Which Are the Clouds, and Which the Mountains? See

Which are the clouds, and which the mountains? See,
They mix and melt together!  Yon blue hill
Looks fleeting as the vapors which distill
Their dews upon its summit, while the free
And far-off clouds, now solid, dark, and still,
An aspect wear of calm eternity.
Each seems the other, as our fancies will—
The cloud a mount, the mount a cloud, and we
Gaze doubtfully.  So everywhere on earth,
This foothold where we stand with slipping feet,
The unsubstantial and substantial meet,
And we are fooled until made wise by Time.
Is not the obvious lesson something worth,
Lady? or have I wov'n an idle rhyme?

1. Sonnets. 4. They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly
2. Sonnets. 12. What Gossamer Lures Thee Now? What Hope, What Name
3. Sonnets. 14. Are These Wild Thoughts, Thus Fettered in My Rhymes
4. The Messenger Rose
5. An Exotic

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1321

Последние стихотворения

To English version