But even a witch today Must... «Aurora Leigh»
innashpitzberg21 мая 2013But even a witch today Must melt down golden pieces in the nard Wherewith to anoint her broomstick ere she rides; And poets evermore are scant of gold,
And if they find a piece behind the door It turns by sunset to a withered leaf. The Devil himself scarce trusts his patented Gold-making art to any who make rhymes, But culls his Faustus from philosophers, And not from poets. 'Leave my Job,' said God; And so the Devil leaves him without pence, And poverty proves plainly special grace. In these new, just, administrative times Men clamour for an order of merit: why? Here's black bread on the table and no wine! At least I am a poet in being poor, Thank God.
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