Читать книгу Poems. Volume 2 - George Meredith - Страница 10

Earth was not Earth before her sons appeared,

Nor Beauty Beauty ere young Love was born:

And thou when I lay hidden wast as morn

At city-windows, touching eyelids bleared;

To none by her fresh wingedness endeared;

Unwelcome unto revellers outworn.

I the last echoes of Diana’s horn

In woodland heard, and saw thee come, and cheered.

No longer wast thou then mere light, fair soul!

And more than simple duty moved thy feet.

New colours rose in thee, from fear, from shame,

From hope, effused: though not less pure a scroll

May men read on the heart I taught to beat:

That change in thee, if not thyself, I claim.