Читать книгу Michael Angelo - Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло - Страница 3

Nothing that is shall perish utterly,

But perish only to revive again

In other forms, as clouds restore in rain

The exhalations of the land and sea.

Men build their houses from the masonry

Of ruined tombs; the passion and the pain

Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat, remain

To throb in hearts that are, or are to be.

So from old chronicles, where sleep in dust

Names that once filled the world with trumpet tones,

I build this verse; and flowers of song have thrust

Their roots among the loose disjointed stones,

Which to this end I fashion as I must.

Quickened are they that touch the Prophet's bones.