Читать книгу Poems - French Nora May - Страница 10

THE tortured river-banks, the toiling piers —

I walked thereby as older grew the day,

And sick with sorry clamor in mine ears,

Heart-weary turned my steps and went my way.

“O place full-voiced of wretchedness!” I cried.

(The sun had set, the dusk was closing in)

“O place where laboring Life goes heavy-eyed,

Compound of grime and discord, strife and sin!”

I turned me back, and lo, a miracle!

For misty violet lay along the land.

The shining river in mysterious spell

(Divinely touched by some transmuting hand).

A path of wonder was, and on it stirred,

(Black-shaped, and jeweled with a crimson spark)

A ship that slowly moved; and, faintly heard,

A cheery song rose blithely to the dark.