Читать книгу Verses and Sonnets - Hilaire Belloc - Страница 8

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I was like one who grips the deck by night,

Bearing the tiller up against his breast;

I was like one who makes with all his might

For keeping course although so hardly prest;

Who veers with veering shock, now east, now west,

And strains his foothold still, and still makes play,

Of bending beams until the sacred light

Shows him high lands and heralds up the day.

But now such busy work of battle past,

I am like one whose barque at bar at last

Comes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze,

And entering calmer seas,

I am like one that brings his merchandise

To Californian skies.