2 мин
Слушать(AI)Modern Beauty
I am the torch, she saith, and what to
If the moth die of me?
I am the
Of Beauty, and I burn that all may
Beauty, and I have neither joy nor shame.
But live with that clear light of perfect
Which is to men the death of their desire.
I am Yseult and Helen,
I have
Troy burn, and the most loving knight lies dead.
The world has been my mirror, time has
My breath upon the glass; and men have said,
Age after age, in rapture and despair,
Love's poor few words, before my image there.
I live, and am immortal; in my
The sorrow of the world, and on my
The joy of life, mingle to make me wise;
Yet now the day is darkened with eclipse:
Who is there lives for beauty?
Still am
The torch, but where's the moth that still dares die?
Arthur Symons
Arthur William Symons (28 February 1865 – 22 January 1945), was a British poet, critic and magazine editor.
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
The One Desire
If I think of your soul, I see Your body's beauty; and then I pray to your body again, And your soul answers me So to possess you whole,
The Broken Tryst
That day a fire was in my blood; I could have sung: joy wrapt me round; The men I met seemed all so good, I scarcely knew I trod the ground
In Fountain Court
The fountain murmuring of sleep, A drowsy tune; The flickering green of leaves that keep The light of June; Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
Javanese Dancers
Twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums, Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting: And now the stealthy dancer comes Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling; Smiling between her painted lids a smile,
