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James Russell Lowell (Джеймс Расселл Лоуэлл) The Unlovely The pretty things that others wear Look strange and out of place on me, I never seem dressed tastefully, Because I am not fair; And, when I would most pleasing seem, And deck myself with joyful care, I find it is an idle dream, Because I am not fair. If I put roses in my hair, They bloom as if in mockery; Nature denies her sympathy, Because I am not fair; Alas! I have a warm, true heart, But when I show it people stare; I must forever dwell apart, Because I am not fair. I am least happy being where The hearts of others are most light, And strive to keep me out of sight, Because I am not fair; The glad ones often give a glance, As I am sitting lonely there, That asks me why I do not dance-- Because I am not fair. And if to smile on them I dare, For that my heart with love runs o'er, They say: "What is she laughing for?"-- Because I am not fair; Love scorned or misinterpreted-- It is the hardest thing to bear; I often wish that I were dead, Because I am not fair. In joy or grief I must not share, For neither smiles nor tears on me Will ever look becomingly, Because I am not fair; Whole days I sit alone and cry, And in my grave I wish I were-- Yet none will weep me if I die, Because I am not fair. My grave will be so lone and bare, I fear to think of those dark hours, For none will plant it o'er with flowers, Because I am not fair; They will not in the summer come And speak kind words above me there; To me the grave will be no home, Because I am not fair. James Russell Lowell's other poems:
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