Читать книгу Selections from Poe - Эдгар Аллан По, Edgar Allan Poe, Marta Fihel - Страница 20

Thou wast all that to me, love,

  For which my soul did pine:

A green isle in the sea, love,

  A fountain and a shrine

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

  And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

  Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise

But to be overcast!

  A voice from out the Future cries,

"On! on!" – but o'er the Past

  (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

Mute, motionless, aghast.

For, alas! alas! with me

  The light of Life is o'er!

  No more – no more – no more —

(Such language holds the solemn sea

  To the sands upon the shore)

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,

  Or the stricken eagle soar.

And all my days are trances,

  And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy gray eye glances,

  And where thy footstep gleams —

In what ethereal dances,

  By what eternal streams.