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Слушать(AI)Sonnet
Flesh,
I have knocked at many a dusty door,
Gone down full many a midnight lane,
Probed in old walls and felt along the floor,
Pressed in blind hope the lighted window-pane,
But useless all, though sometimes when the moon Was full in heaven and the sea was full,
Along my body's alleys came a tune Played in the tavern by the Beautiful.
Then for an instant I have felt at point To find and seize her, whosoe'er she be,
Whether some saint whose glory doth anoint Those whom she loves, or but a part of me,
Or something that the things not understood Make for their uses out of flesh and blood.
John Masefield
John Edward Masefield OM (/ˈmeɪsˌfiːld, ˈmeɪz-/; 1 June 1878 – 12 May 1967) was an English poet and writer, and Poet Laureate from 1930 until 19
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