Эдит Несбит (Edith Nesbit)




Текст оригинала на английском языке

The Eternal


   YOUR dear desired grace,
      Your hands, your lips of red,
   The wonder of your perfect face
      Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed,
            When you are dead.

   Your beautiful hair
      Dust in the dust will lie—
   But not the light I worship there,
      The gold the sunshine crowns you by—
            This will not die.

   Your beautiful eyes
      Will be closed up with clay;
   But all the magic they comprise,
      The hopes, the dreams, the ecstasies
            Pass not away.

   All I desire and see
      Will be a carrion thing;
   But all that you have been to me
   Is, and can never cease to be.
   O Grave! where is thy victory?
      Where, Death, thy sting?





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