Читать книгу Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough - Arthur Hugh Clough - Страница 4

Though to the vilest things beneath the moon

For poor Ease’ sake I give away my heart,

And for the moment’s sympathy let part

My sight and sense of truth, Thy precious boon,

My painful earnings, lost, all lost, as soon,

Almost, as gained; and though aside I start,

Belie Thee daily, hourly,—still Thou art,

Art surely as in heaven the sun at noon;

How much so e’er I sin, whate’er I do

Of evil, still the sky above is blue,

The stars look down in beauty as before:

It is enough to walk as best we may,

To walk, and, sighing, dream of that blest day

When ill we cannot quell shall be no more.