Читать книгу The Unknown Eros - Coventry Patmore - Страница 17

   O England, how hast thou forgot,

In dullard care for undisturb’d increase

Of gold, which profits not,

The gain which once thou knew’st was for thy peace!

Honour is peace, the peace which does accord

Alone with God’s glad word:

‘My peace I send you, and I send a sword.’

O England, how hast thou forgot,

How fear’st the things which make for joy, not fear,

Confronted near.

Hard days?  ’Tis what the pamper’d seek to buy

With their most willing gold in weary lands.

Loss and pain risk’d?  What sport but understands

These for incitements!  Suddenly to die,

With conscience a blurr’d scroll?

The sunshine dreaming upon Salmon’s height

Is not so sweet and white

As the most heretofore sin-spotted soul

That darts to its delight

Straight from the absolution of a faithful fight.

Myriads of homes unloosen’d of home’s bond,

And fill’d with helpless babes and harmless women fond?

Let those whose pleasant chance

Took them, like me, among the German towns,

After the war that pluck’d the fangs from France,