Текст оригинала на английском языке
The House of Life. Sonnet 17. Beauty's Pageant
What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last Incarnate flower of culminating day, - What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May, Or song full-quired, sweet June's encomiast; What glory of chance by nature's hand amass'd Can vie with all those moods of varying grace Which o'er one loveliest woman's form and face Within this hour, within this room, have pass'd? Love's very vesture and elect disguise Was each fine movement, - wonder new-begot Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot; Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs, Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyes Unborn, that read these words and saw her not.
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