Юджин Глэдстоун О’Нил (Eugene Gladstone O'Neill)

Noon

'TIS noon, the fitful sunlight feebly gleams
Thro' hurrying clouds with dull uncertainty.
Distorted shadows in strange fantasy
Play like vague phantoms wandering in dreams
Upon the shivering surface of the streams.
The trees sway to and fro protestingly
Dancing as if to the weird melody
Of anguished protest that the north wind screams.
 
The seer, dead leaves whirl in confusion by,
Fleeing as if from nameless pestilence.
A solitary hawk up in the sky
Floats on the wind in peaceful indolence,
Like some old God, who from Olympus high
Looks on our dull world with indifference.

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