Читать книгу The Certain Hour (Dizain des Poëtes) - James Branch Cabell - Страница 4

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"These questions, so long as they remain with the Muses, may very well be unaccompanied with severity, for where there is no other end of contemplation and inquiry but that of pastime alone, the understanding is not oppressed; but after the Muses have given over their riddles to Sphinx—that is, to practise, which urges and impels to action, choice and determination—then it is that they become torturing, severe and trying."

From the dawn of the day to the dusk he toiled,

Shaping fanciful playthings, with tireless hands—

Useless trumpery toys; and, with vaulting heart,

Gave them unto all peoples, who mocked at him,

Trampled on them, and soiled them, and went their way.

Then he toiled from the morn to the dusk again,

Gave his gimcracks to peoples who mocked at him,

Trampled on them, deriding, and went their way.

Thus he labors, and loudly they jeer at him;—

That is, when they remember he still exists.

Who, you ask, is this fellow?—What matter names? He is only a scribbler who is content. FELIX KENNASTON.—The Toy-Maker.