Читать книгу The Victories of Love, and Other Poems - Coventry Patmore - Страница 3

My Child, Honoria Churchill sways

A double power through Charlotte Hayes.

In minds to first-love’s memory pledged

The second Cupid’s born full-fledged.

I saw, and trembled for the day

When you should see her beauty, gay

And pure as apple-blooms, that show

Outside a blush and inside snow,

Her high and touching elegance

Of order’d life as free as chance.

Ah, haste from her bewitching side,

No friend for you, far less a bride!

But, warning from a hope so wild,

I wrong you.  Yet this know, my Child:

He that but once too nearly hears

The music of forefended spheres,

Is thenceforth lonely, and for all

His days like one who treads the Wall

Of China, and, on this hand, sees

Cities and their civilities,

And on the other, lions.  Well,

(Your rash reply I thus foretell.)

Good is the knowledge of what’s fair,

Though bought with temporal despair!

Yes, good for one, but not for two.

Will it content a wife that you

Should pine for love, in love’s embrace,

Through having known a happier grace;

And break with inward sighs your rest,

Because, though good, she’s not the best?

You would, you think, be just and kind,

And keep your counsel!  You will find

You cannot such a secret keep;

’Twill out, like murder, in your sleep;

A touch will tell it, though, for pride,

She may her bitter knowledge hide;

And, while she accepts love’s make-believe,

You’ll twice despise what you’d deceive.

   I send the books.  Dear Child, adieu!

Tell me of all you are and do.

I know, thank God, whate’er it be,

’Twill need no veil ’twixt you and me.