Читать книгу Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough - Arthur Hugh Clough - Страница 57

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Cease, empty Faith, the Spectrum saith,

I was, and lo, have been;

I, God, am nought: a shade of thought,

Which, but by darkness seen,

Upon the unknown yourselves have thrown,

Placed it and light between.

At morning’s birth on darkened earth,

And as the evening sinks,

Awfully vast abroad is cast

The lengthened form that shrinks

And shuns the sight in midday light,

And underneath you slinks.

From barren strands of wintry lands

Across the seas of time,

Borne onward fast ye touch at last

An equatorial clime;

In equatorial noon sublime

At zenith stands the sun,

And lo, around, far, near, are found

Yourselves, and Shadow none.

A moment! yea! but when the day

At length was perfect day!

A moment! so! and light we know

With dark exchanges aye,

Nor morn nor eve shall shadow leave

Your sunny paths secure,

And in your sight that orb of light

Shall humbler orbs obscure.

And yet withal, ’tis shadow all

Whate’er your fancies dream,

And I (misdeemed) that was, that seemed,

Am not, whate’er I seem.