Читать книгу The Language of Loss - Barbara Abercrombie - Страница 30

Methought I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,

Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint

Purification in the old Law did save,

And such as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

So clear as in no face with more delight.

But O as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

—JOHN MILTON