Джордж Дарли (George Darley)

Lenimina Laborum. 32. In an Album

Hither the wise, the witty, and the gay,
Bid to the flow of soul—bid me away!
Fool in all else, in this not worldly wise
That all the world's vain wisdom I despise;
Witty in nought, but with sardonic leer,
Mutely to scoff at half the wit I hear;
And only gay, when those I would deride
Who think to fathom what I fain would hide;
So rare my mood what gentleness approves,
My verse so seldom what a Lady loves,—
Why should, fair Girl! one melancholy line
Trace my soul's darkness on this page of thine?
This snowy page, that scares another's gloom.
To mine suggests the tablet of a tomb:
And here would I, as on that pallid stone,
Grave some sad history—perchance my own!
Like the fond bird, that in her darkling bourne
With sweet perversity, still loves to mourn.
Like her, whose pleasure all in grief appears,
My wilful strains are ever steeped in tears;
I've talked so long familiarly with woe
That her sad language is the sole I know;
And Hope, that erst danced forward on the wind,
I've passed long since, and left far—far behind!
Horror's black plumage ever round me waves,
I tread on skulls, I totter among graves,
A Fate pursues me, shrieking in mine ear.
That death, or something far more dread, is near;
Nor will this Terror cease her howl, before
I rest too deep in earth to hear her more.
Ask then the gay, the witty, and the wise,
Nymph of the rosy lips and violet eyes.
For flowers or fruits of poesy, I pray,
And cast this worthless, withering Leaf away! 

Поддержать сайт