Читать книгу The Two Twilights - Henry A. Beers - Страница 3

So late and long the shadows lie

Under the quadrangle wall:

From such a narrow strip of sky

So scant an hour the sunbeams fall,

They hardly come to touch at all

This cool, sequestered corner where,

Beside the chapel belfry tall,

I cultivate my small parterre.

Poor, sickly blooms of Academe,

Recluses of the college close,

Whose nun-like pallor would beseem

The violet better than the rose:

There's not a bud among you blows

With scent or hue to lure the bee:

Only the thorn that on you grows —

Only the thorn grows hardily.

Pale cloisterers, have you lost so soon

The way to blush? Do you forget

How once, beneath the enamored moon,

You climbed against the parapet,

To touch the breast of Juliet

Warm with a kiss, wet with a tear,

In gardens of the Capulet,

Far south, my flowers, not here – not here?