Читать книгу The Wild Knight and Other Poems - Гилберт Честертон, Gilbert Keith Chesterton, Лорд Дансени - Страница 6

My Lady clad herself in grey,

  That caught and clung about her throat;

Then all the long grey winter day

  On me a living splendour smote;

And why grey palmers holy are,

  And why grey minsters great in story,

And grey skies ring the morning star,

  And grey hairs are a crown of glory.

My Lady clad herself in green,

  Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;

Then round my spirit spread, I ween,

  A splendour of forgotten grass.

Then all that dropped of stem or sod,

  Hoarded as emeralds might be,

I bowed to every bush, and trod

  Amid the live grass fearfully.

My Lady clad herself in blue,

  Then on me, like the seer long gone,

The likeness of a sapphire grew,

  The throne of him that sat thereon.

Then knew I why the Fashioner

  Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;

And ere 'twas good enough for her,

  He tried it on Eternity.

Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree

  Sat, like an owl, the evil sage:

'The World's a bubble,' solemnly

  He read, and turned a second page.

'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,

  'God keep you in your weary wit!

'A bubble – have you ever spied

  'The colours I have seen on it?'