Читать книгу Poems. Volume 2 - George Meredith - Страница 25

I, wakeful for the skylark voice in men,

Or straining for the angel of the light,

Rebuked am I by hungry ear and sight,

When I behold one lamp that through our fen

Goes hourly where most noisome; hear again

A tongue that loathsomeness will not affright

From speaking to the soul of us forthright

What things our craven senses keep from ken.

This is the doing of the Christ; the way

He went on earth; the service above guile

To prop a tyrant creed: it sings, it shines;

Cries to the Mammonites: Allay, allay

Such misery as by these present signs

Brings vengeance down; nor them who rouse revile.