Читать книгу Bread and Circuses - Helen Parry Eden - Страница 14

Table of Contents

How few alack, There be along the track Of life which hear not at their back

(Though small birds sing And blessèd belfries ring) The creaking of Time’s iron wing;

And, in mad flight From an untempted might, Trample the lovely fields of light,

Nor for a space Pause in their fearful race To look their tyrant in the face.—

In you alone, Dear child, there ever shone Divine deliberation.

And now in weed And grass you bid Time speed Away in dandelion seed,

Till your bright hair, For the down mingled there, His very greyness looks to wear.

Ah happy she Whose gentle hours be Told by such kind chronometry!

For now Time saith, Who smiling listeneth, “Lo, a child flouts me with a breath!”

And so, to assuage Sweetly a feignèd rage, He dims your hair with mimic age.