Читать книгу Rampolli - George MacDonald - Страница 11

     Of the thousand hours me meeting,

     And with gladsome promise greeting,

       One alone hath kept its faith—

     One wherein—ah, sorely grieved!—

     In my heart I first perceived

       Who for us did die the death.

     All to dust my world was beaten;

     As a worm had through them eaten

       Withered in me bud and flower;

     All my life had sought or cherished

     In the grave had sunk and perished;

       Pain sat in my ruined bower.

     While I thus, in silence sighing,

     Ever wept, on Death still crying,

       Still to sad delusions tied,

     All at once the night was cloven,

     From my grave the stone was hoven,

       And my inner doors thrown wide.

     Whom I saw, and who the other,

     Ask me not, or friend or brother!—

       Sight seen once, and evermore!

     Lone in all life’s eves and morrows,

     This hour only, like my sorrows,

       Ever shines my eyes before.