Читать книгу Strange Visitors - Henry J. Horn - Страница 16

But let that pass. I hear a nation's voice

Raised to defend the absent, wronged child;

My hopes and aims were high, albeit my choice

Was fixed on one who felt not for my wild

And wayward nature; one who never smiled

On imperfection. From my home of light

Unscathed, I see life's blackening billows piled,

Ready to sweep the daring soul from sight,

Sinking his name and memory in darkest night.