Literatura

the cloud (wiersz klasyka)

Peabody Josephine Preston

 

The islands called me far away,
         The valleys called me home.
The rivers with a silver voice
         Drew on my heart to come.

The paths reached tendrils to my hair
         From every vine and tree.
There was no refuge anywhere
         Until I came to thee.

There is a northern cloud I know,
         Along a mountain crest;
And as she folds her wings of mist,
         So I could make my rest.

There is no chain to bind her so
         Unto that purple height;
And she will shine and wander, slow,
         Slow, with a cloud's delight.

Would she begone? She melts away,
         A heavenly joyous thing.
Yet day will find the mountain white,
         White-folded with her wing.

As you may see, but half aware
         If it be late or soon,
Soft breathing on the day-time air,
         The fair forgotten Moon.

And though love cannot bind me, Love,
         -- Ah no! -- yet I could stay
Maybe, with wings forever spread,
         -- Forever, and a day.


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przysłano: 5 marca 2010

Peabody Josephine Preston

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