Читать книгу Poems. Volume 3 - George Meredith - Страница 9

That was the chirp of Ariel

You heard, as overhead it flew,

The farther going more to dwell,

And wing our green to wed our blue;

But whether note of joy or knell,

Not his own Father-singer knew;

Nor yet can any mortal tell,

Save only how it shivers through;

The breast of us a sounded shell,

The blood of us a lighted dew.