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Maria Jane Jewsbury (Мария Джейн Джюсбери) The Roving Bee Nature's self's thy Ganymede. Cowley. EVERY bud possessing That the garden yields, Yet in search of blessing Found in distant fields, Wild inconstant bee, What so false as thee? Nay, he loves each flower Till its honey fails; He forsakes no bower, Till its beauty pales; Winged and wandering bee, Wherefore libel thee? Doth he waste the treasure Gathered by his art, And in idle pleasure Revel and depart? Grave and diligent bee, There's no guile in thee! Sipping each bud's sweetness, None dost thou destroy, They flourish on in meetness, Bloom without alloy; O gentle, gentle bee, Nought injured is by thee! HEART, as prone to roving, Idle, selfish thing, Thine's no guileless loving, Thou, dost mar and sting Unlike the harmless bee, Each flower that shelters thee. Ever, ever toiling For thine own delight, Ever, ever spoiling That thou findest bright Proud heart, the roving bee Is worthier far than thee! Maria Jane Jewsbury's other poems:
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |