Читать книгу The So-called Human Race - Bert Leston Taylor - Страница 3

Once upon a summer’s night

Mused a mischief-making sprite,

Underneath the leafy hood

Of a fairy-haunted wood.

Here and there, in light and shade,

Ill-assorted couples strayed:

“Lord,” said Puck, in elfish glee,

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

Now he sings the self-same tune

Underneath an older moon.

Life to him is, plain enough,

Still a game of blind man’s buff.

If we listen we may hear

Puckish laughter always near,

And the elf’s apostrophe,

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

B. L. T.