Томас Гарди (Харди) (Thomas Hardy)

Rome: The Vatican: Sala delle Muse

I sat in the Muses’ Hall at the mid of the day,
And it seemed to grow still, and the people to pass away,
And the chiselled shapes to combine in a haze of sun,
Till beside a Carrara column there gleamed forth One.

She looked not this nor that of those beings divine,
But each and the whole – an essence of all the Nine;
With tentative foot she neared to my halting-place,
A pensive smile on her sweet, small, marvellous face.

‘Regarded so long, we render thee sad?’ said she.
‘Not you,’ sighed I, ‘but my own inconstancy!
I worship each and each; in the morning one,
And then, alas! another at sink of sun.

‘To-day my soul clasps Form; but where is my troth
Of yesternight with Tune: can one cleave to both?’
– ‘Be not perturbed,’ said she. ‘Though apart in fame,
As I and my sisters are one, those, too, are the same.’

– ‘But my love goes further – to Story, and Dance, and Hymn,
The lover of all in a sun-sweep is fool to whim –
Is swayed like a river-weed as the ripples run!’
– ‘Nay, wooer, thou sway’st not. These are but phases of one;

‘And that one is I; and I am projected from thee,
One that out of thy brain and heart thou causest to be –
Extern to thee nothing. Grieve not, nor thyself becall,
Woo where thou wilt; and rejoice thou canst love at all!’

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