Arthur Stringer (Артур Стрингер)

The Keeper

WIDE is the world and wide its open seas,
 Yet I who fare from pole to pole remain
A prisoned Hope that paces ill at ease,
 A captive Fear that fumbles with its chain.

I once for Freedom madly did aspire,
 And stormed His bars in many a burst of rage:
But see, my Keeper with his brands of fire
 Has cowed me quite . . . . and bade me love my cage!

1. War
2. Destiny
3. Morning in the North-West
4. The Wordless Touch
5. At the Comedy

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1216

Последние стихотворения

To English version