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- innashpitzberg27 января 2014 г.Читать далее
VII.
Said he--"Wake me by no gesture,--sound of breath, or stir of vesture!
Let the blessed apparition melt not yet to its divine!
No approaching--hush, no breathing! or my heart must swoon to death in
The too utter life thou bringest, O thou dream of Geraldine!"VIII.
Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling,
But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes and tenderly:--
"Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no woman far above me
Found more worthy of thy poet-heart than such a one as I?"633 - innashpitzberg27 января 2014 г.Читать далее
LXVII.
There, I maddened! her words stung me. Life swept through me into fever,
And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang full-statured in an hour.
Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER,
To a Pythian height dilates you, and despair sublimes to power?LXVIII.
From my brain the soul-wings budded, waved a flame about my body,
Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as man,
From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy
With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew what spirits can.LXIX.
I was mad, inspired--say either! (anguish worketh inspiration)
Was a man or beast--perhaps so, for the tiger roars when speared;
And I walked on, step by step along the level of my passion--
Oh my soul! and passed the doorway to her face, and never feared.617 - innashpitzberg27 января 2014 г.
XCII.
Blame me not. I would not squander life in grief--I am abstemious.
I but nurse my spirit's falcon that its wing may soar again.
There's no room for tears of weakness in the blind eyes of a Phemius:
Into work the poet kneads them, and he does not die till then.616