Читать книгу A Double-Edged Sword - Brenda E. Novack - Страница 4

To Arpiné

I come, Great Friend, fearful yet rich in hope,

To place upon the Altar of thy heart

This humble wreathe of daisies wild, gathered

From the untrodden fields of my lone soul,

Woven by unskilled fingers rude, albeit

Fain would I have them be of roses proud.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

O if the random notes of my wild song,

Swept on my heart’s frail strings but newly strung,

Strike discords harsh upon they dainty ear,

I know thou wilt not scorn my faltering art,

Since they will be to thee Symbol and Sign

Of my tongue-less (save Silence) esteem for thee:

For when the notes are done and dead, Silence

And silent looks become articulate.