Читать книгу The Consolation of Philosophy - Boethius - Страница 24

When, in rosy chariot drawn,

Phœbus 'gins to light the dawn,

By his flaming beams assailed,

Every glimmering star is paled.

When the grove, by Zephyrs fed,

With rose-blossom blushes red;—

Doth rude Auster breathe thereon,

Bare it stands, its glory gone.

Smooth and tranquil lies the deep

While the winds are hushed in sleep.

Soon, when angry tempests lash,

Wild and high the billows dash.

Thus if Nature's changing face

Holds not still a moment's space,

Fleeting deem man's fortunes; deem

Bliss as transient as a dream.

One law only standeth fast:

Things created may not last.