Читать книгу Oxford Poetry, 1919 - Группа авторов - Страница 5

P. BLOOMFIELD

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(BALLIOL)

TWILIGHT

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The day grows fainter, moonlit evening fills

With calm and cool the lilac-scented land,

And I feel—were I on the western hills,

At last, at last, now might I understand

These mysteries of Life; how things began,

And why I love my darling as I do,

And how came longing to the soul of Man,

And whether Death must sever me from you.

Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veil

The poets would give all the world to raise,

But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale,

And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways.

The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not know

What's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so!