Читать книгу Stars of the Desert - Adela Florence Cory Nicolson - Страница 17
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Rabat: Morocco
Oh, walled, white City, rising from the plain,
Between the grey-green grass, the grey-blue skies,
How we have longed for you, and watched in vain
Till your pale beauty rose upon our eyes.
From Orange groves, beyond your gated walls,
Faint scents of Citron bloom float far away.
Upon each wind-worn face the perfume falls
Till we forget the journey of the day.
Forget the weary march, its dust and heat,
The frequent carrion that taints the air,
The three-inch spur, the lame and stumbling feet,
The pointed stirrup, clogged with blood and hair.
Forget the wretched brute, that strains and strives,
Staggers a few more paces with his load
Then falls and dies, beneath the open knives,
The kicks and curses of the savage road.
Let us forget (in such forgetfulness
Lies the one chance, perhaps, of life at all!)
While our burnt lips receive the soft caress
Exhaled from Orange flowers beyond the wall.
Ah, sea-set City, grant my heart's request!
Where your slim minarets soar white above
Your fragrant Orange gardens, grant me rest,
And from some child of yours, a little love.
Ah, walled, white City, grant me a little love!
