Джордж Дарли (George Darley)

Lenimina Laborum. 36. Ay! thou look'st cold on me, pomp-loving Moon

Ay! thou look'st cold on me, pomp-loving Moon,
Thy courtier stars following in bright array,
Like some proud queen, when Meekness begs a boon,
With upraised brow wondering what he should  say,—
Then passing in her slow and silent scorn away!
Blank- visaged, wan, high-pacing Dame! I come
No suitor to thy pity; nor to crave
One beam to gild the darkness of my doom,
Not even a tear to weep me in the grave;
Think'st thou I'd wear thy tinsel on my pall.
Or deck my shroud with sorry gems like thine r"
No, let me die, unseen, unwept of all,
Let not a dog over my ashes whine,—
And sweep thou on thy worldly way, Moon! nor glance at mine! 

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