Читать книгу Daniel Deronda - Джордж Элиот, Richard Cameron J. - Страница 1

  Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul:

  There, 'mid the throng of hurrying desires

  That trample on the dead to seize their spoil,

  Lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible

  As exhalations laden with slow death,

  And o'er the fairest troop of captured joys

  Breathes pallid pestilence.