Читать книгу Shapes of Clay - Ambrose Bierce - Страница 14

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As sweet as the look of a lover

Saluting the eyes of a maid,

That blossom to blue as the maid

Is ablush to the glances above her,

The sunshine is gilding the glade

And lifting the lark out of shade.

Sing therefore high praises, and therefore

Sing songs that are ancient as gold,

Of Earth in her garments of gold;

Nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore

They charm as of yore, for behold!

The Earth is as fair as of old.

Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,

And songs of the strength of the seas,

And the fountains that fall to the seas

From the hands of the hills, and the fountains

That shine in the temples of trees,

In valleys of roses and bees.

Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,

Of slender Arabian palms,

And shadows that circle the palms,

Where caravans, veiled from the splendor,

Are kneeling in blossoms and balms,

In islands of infinite calms.

Barbaric, O Man, was thy runing

When mountains were stained as with wine

By the dawning of Time, and as wine

Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,

Achant in the gusty pine

And the pulse of the poet's line.