Читать книгу Poems. Volume 1 - George Meredith - Страница 28

Fair and false!  No dawn will greet

   Thy waking beauty as of old;

The little flower beneath thy feet

   Is alien to thy smile so cold;

The merry bird flown up to meet

Young morning from his nest i’ the wheat

   Scatters his joy to wood and wold,

   But scorns the arrogance of gold.

False and fair!  I scarce know why,

   But standing in the lonely air,

And underneath the blessed sky,

   I plead for thee in my despair;—

For thee cut off, both heart and eye

From living truth; thy spring quite dry;

   For thee, that heaven my thought may share,

   Forget—how false! and think—how fair!