Читать книгу The New Morning: Poems - Alfred Noyes - Страница 13
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ОглавлениеLove that still holds us with immortal power,
Yet cannot lift us to His realm of light;
Love that still shows us heaven for one brief hour
Only to daunt the heart with that sheer height;
Love that is made of loveliness entire
In form and thought and act; and still must shame us
Because we ever acknowledge and aspire,
And yet let slip the shining hands that claim us.
O, if this Love might cloak with rags His glory,
Laugh, eat and drink, and dwell with suffering men,
Sit with us at our hearth, and hear our story,
This world—we thought—might be transfigured then.
"But Oh," Love answered, with swift human tears,
"All these things have I done, these many years."
