Читать книгу Сонеты и стихотворения. Билингва - Хелена Хант Джексон - Страница 3

      IN what a strange bewilderment do we

      Awake each morn from out the brief night’s sleep.

      Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep

      Its slow way back, as if it could not free

      Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory,

      Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep

      The joy or grief which it had last to keep

      For us; and by the joy or grief we see

      The new day dawneth like the yesterday;

      We are unchanged; our life the same we knew

      Before. I wonder if this is the way

      We wake from death’s short sleep, to struggle through

      A brief bewilderment, and in dismay

      Behold our life unto our old life true.