Читать книгу Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough - Arthur Hugh Clough - Страница 10

O kind protecting Darkness! as a child

Flies back to bury in its mother’s lap

His shame and his confusion, so to thee,

O Mother Night, come I! within the folds

Of thy dark robe hide thou me close; for I

So long, so heedless, with external things

Have played the liar, that whate’er I see,

E’en these white glimmering curtains, yon bright stars,

Which to the rest rain comfort down, for me

Smiling those smiles, which I may not return,

Or frowning frowns of fierce triumphant malice,

As angry claimants or expectants sure

Of that I promised and may not perform,

Look me in the face! O hide me, Mother Night!

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