Читать книгу Selections from Poe - Эдгар Аллан По, Edgar Allan Poe, Marta Fihel - Страница 21

Beloved! amid the earnest woes

  That crowd around my earthly path

(Drear path, alas! where grows

Not even one lonely rose),

  My soul at least a solace hath

In dreams of thee, and therein knows

An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me

  Like some enchanted far-off isle

In some tumultuous sea, —

Some ocean throbbing far and free

  With storms, but where meanwhile

Serenest skies continually

  Just o'er that one bright island smile.