Текст оригинала на английском языке
The House of Life. Sonnet 85. Vain Virtues
What is the sorriest thing that enters Hell? None of the sins,--but this and that fair deed Which a soul's sin at length could supersede. These yet are virgins, whom death's timely knell Might once have sainted; whom the fiends compel Together now, in snake-bound shuddering sheaves Of anguish, while the pit's pollution leaves Their refuse maidenhood abominable. Night sucks them down, the tribute of the pit, Whose names, half entered in the book of Life, Were God's desire at noon. And as their hair And eyes sink last, the Torturer deigns no whit To gaze, but, yearning, waits his destined wife, The Sin still blithe on earth that sent them there.
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