The Prisoner (wiersz klasyka)

Bronte Emily Jane

      Still let my tyrants know, I am not doom'd to wear
      Year after year in gloom and desolate despair;
      A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,
      And offers for short life, eternal liberty.
       
      He comes with Western winds, with evening's wandering airs,
      With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars:
      Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,
      And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.
       
      Desire for nothing known in my maturer years,
      When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears:
      When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm,
      I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm.
       
      But first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends;
      The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends.
      Mute music soothes my breast--unutter'd harmony
      That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.
       
      Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;
      My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels;
      Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found,
      Measuring the gulf, it stoops, and dares the final bound.
       
      O dreadful is the check--intense the agony--
      When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;
      When the pulse begins to throb--the brain to think again--
      The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.
       
      Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less;
      The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;
      And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,
      If it but herald Death, the vision is divine.

Tylko zarejestrowani użytkownicy mogą komentować i oceniać teksty
Zaloguj się Nie masz konta?   Zarejestruj się
853 wyświetlenia
przysłano: 5 marca 2010

Bronte Emily Jane

Inne teksty autora

Leć, liściu, leć...

Bronte Emily Jane, wiersz klasyka

Bogactwa lekce sobie ważę...

Bronte Emily Jane, wiersz klasyka

Long neglect has worn away

Bronte Emily Jane, wiersz klasyka

Pamięć

Bronte Emily Jane, wiersz klasyka

The Bluebell

Bronte Emily Jane, wiersz klasyka

Strona korzysta z plików cookie w celu realizacji usług zgodnie z Polityką prywatności.
Możesz określić warunki przechowywania lub dostępu do cookie w Twojej przeglądarce.

Zgłoś obraźliwą treść

Uzasadnij swoje zgłoszenie.

wpisz wiadomość


lub tradycyjnie
login lub email
hasło