По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
Andromeda, and Other Poems
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
But his—God kept it safe from harm.
He toiled, and dared, and earned command;
And those three stripes upon his arm
Were more to me than gold or land.
Sure he would win some great renown:
Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.
One night the fever struck him down.
I sat, and stared, and saw him die.
I had his children—one, two, three.
One week I had them, blithe and sound.
The next—beneath this mango-tree,
By him in barrack burying-ground.
I sit beneath the mango-shade;
I live my five years’ life all o’er—
Round yonder stems his children played;
He mounted guard at yonder door.
’Tis I, not they, am gone and dead.
They live; they know; they feel; they see.
Their spirits light the golden shade
Beneath the giant mango-tree.
All things, save I, are full of life:
The minas, pluming velvet breasts;
The monkeys, in their foolish strife;
The swooping hawks, the swinging nests;
The lizards basking on the soil,
The butterflies who sun their wings;
The bees about their household toil,
They live, they love, the blissful things.
Each tender purple mango-shoot,
That folds and droops so bashful down;
It lives; it sucks some hidden root;
It rears at last a broad green crown.
It blossoms; and the children cry—
‘Watch when the mango-apples fall.’
It lives: but rootless, fruitless, I—
I breathe and dream;—and that is all.
Thus am I dead: yet cannot die:
But still within my foolish brain
There hangs a pale blue evening sky;
A furzy croft; a sandy lane.
1870.
THE PRIEST’S HEART
It was Sir John, the fair young Priest,
He strode up off the strand;
But seven fisher maidens he left behind
All dancing hand in hand.
He came unto the wise wife’s house:
‘Now, Mother, to prove your art;
To charm May Carleton’s merry blue eyes
Out of a young man’s heart.’
‘My son, you went for a holy man,
Whose heart was set on high;
Go sing in your psalter, and read in your books;
Man’s love fleets lightly by.’
‘I had liever to talk with May Carleton,
Than with all the saints in Heaven;
I had liever to sit by May Carleton
Than climb the spherès seven.
‘I have watched and fasted, early and late,
I have prayed to all above;
But I find no cure save churchyard mould
For the pain which men call love.’
‘Now Heaven forefend that ill grow worse:
Enough that ill be ill.
I know of a spell to draw May Carleton,
And bend her to your will.’
‘If thou didst that which thou canst not do,
Wise woman though thou be,
I would run and run till I buried myself
In the surge of yonder sea.
‘Scathless for me are maid and wife,
And scathless shall they bide.
Yet charm me May Carleton’s eyes from the heart
That aches in my left side.’
She charmed him with the white witchcraft,
She charmed him with the black,
But he turned his fair young face to the wall,
Till she heard his heart-strings crack.
1870
He toiled, and dared, and earned command;
And those three stripes upon his arm
Were more to me than gold or land.
Sure he would win some great renown:
Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.
One night the fever struck him down.
I sat, and stared, and saw him die.
I had his children—one, two, three.
One week I had them, blithe and sound.
The next—beneath this mango-tree,
By him in barrack burying-ground.
I sit beneath the mango-shade;
I live my five years’ life all o’er—
Round yonder stems his children played;
He mounted guard at yonder door.
’Tis I, not they, am gone and dead.
They live; they know; they feel; they see.
Their spirits light the golden shade
Beneath the giant mango-tree.
All things, save I, are full of life:
The minas, pluming velvet breasts;
The monkeys, in their foolish strife;
The swooping hawks, the swinging nests;
The lizards basking on the soil,
The butterflies who sun their wings;
The bees about their household toil,
They live, they love, the blissful things.
Each tender purple mango-shoot,
That folds and droops so bashful down;
It lives; it sucks some hidden root;
It rears at last a broad green crown.
It blossoms; and the children cry—
‘Watch when the mango-apples fall.’
It lives: but rootless, fruitless, I—
I breathe and dream;—and that is all.
Thus am I dead: yet cannot die:
But still within my foolish brain
There hangs a pale blue evening sky;
A furzy croft; a sandy lane.
1870.
THE PRIEST’S HEART
It was Sir John, the fair young Priest,
He strode up off the strand;
But seven fisher maidens he left behind
All dancing hand in hand.
He came unto the wise wife’s house:
‘Now, Mother, to prove your art;
To charm May Carleton’s merry blue eyes
Out of a young man’s heart.’
‘My son, you went for a holy man,
Whose heart was set on high;
Go sing in your psalter, and read in your books;
Man’s love fleets lightly by.’
‘I had liever to talk with May Carleton,
Than with all the saints in Heaven;
I had liever to sit by May Carleton
Than climb the spherès seven.
‘I have watched and fasted, early and late,
I have prayed to all above;
But I find no cure save churchyard mould
For the pain which men call love.’
‘Now Heaven forefend that ill grow worse:
Enough that ill be ill.
I know of a spell to draw May Carleton,
And bend her to your will.’
‘If thou didst that which thou canst not do,
Wise woman though thou be,
I would run and run till I buried myself
In the surge of yonder sea.
‘Scathless for me are maid and wife,
And scathless shall they bide.
Yet charm me May Carleton’s eyes from the heart
That aches in my left side.’
She charmed him with the white witchcraft,
She charmed him with the black,
But he turned his fair young face to the wall,
Till she heard his heart-strings crack.
1870
Другие электронные книги автора Charles Kingsley
Последний отзыв
Информатика. 4 класс
3.75
3.75
интересный учебник