George MacDonald (Джордж Макдональд)

Fate

Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I
Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven
Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven
Black passages which have not any sky:
The scourge is on me now, with all the cry
Of ancient life that hath with murder striven.
How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven,
How many a hand in prayer been lifted high
When the black fate came onward with the rush
Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume!
Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb
Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush
The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush
As if we were all huddled in one doom! 

1. What the Lord Saith
2. Song of the Waiting Dead
3. Christmas Meditation
4. Going to Sleep
5. Born of Water

Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Fate ("The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare")

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1225

Последние стихотворения

To English version