Читать книгу Poems. Volume 2 - George Meredith - Страница 9

Two flower-enfolding crystal vases she

I love fills daily, mindful but of one:

And close behind pale morn she, like the sun

Priming our world with light, pours, sweet to see,

Clear water in the cup, and into me

The image of herself: and that being done,

Choice of what blooms round her fair garden run

In climbers or in creepers or the tree

She ranges with unerring fingers fine,

To harmony so vivid that through sight

I hear, I have her heavenliness to fold

Beyond the senses, where such love as mine,

Such grace as hers, should the strange Fates withhold

Their starry more from her and me, unite.