Читать книгу Poems - Fanny Kemble - Страница 15

It is the dawn! the rosy day awakes;

From her bright hair pale showers of dew she shakes,

And through the heavens her early pathway takes;

   Why art thou sleeping?

It is the noon! the sun looks laughing down

On hamlet still, on busy shore, and town,

On forest glade, and deep dark waters lone;

   Why art thou sleeping?

It is the sunset! daylight’s crimson veil

Floats o’er the mountain tops, while twilight pale

Calls up her vaporous shrouds from every vale;

   Why art thou sleeping?

It is the night! o’er the moon’s livid brow,

Like shadowy locks, the clouds their darkness throw,

All evil spirits wake to wander now;

   Why art thou sleeping?