Читать книгу Poems, 1908-1919 - Drinkwater John - Страница 4

Think not that mystery has place

In the obscure and veilèd face,

Or when the midnight watches are

Uncompanied of moon or star,

Or where the fields and forests lie

Enfolded from the loving eye

By fogs rebellious to the sun,

Or when the poet’s rhymes are spun

From dreams that even in his own

Imagining are half-unknown.

These are not mystery, but mere

Conditions that deny the clear

Reality that lies behind

The weak, unspeculative mind,

Behind contagions of the air

And screens of beauty everywhere,

The brooding and tormented sky,

The hesitation of an eye.

Look rather when the landscapes glow

Through crystal distances as though

The forty shires of England spread

Into one vision harvested,

Or when the moonlit waters lie

In silver cold lucidity;

Those countenances search that bear

Witness to very character,

And listen to the song that weighs

A life’s adventure in a phrase —

These are the founts of wonder, these

The plainer miracles to please

The brain that reads the world aright;

Here is the mystery of light.