Читать книгу Armazindy - James Whitcomb Riley - Страница 6

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He puts the poem by, to say

His eyes are not themselves to-day!

A sudden glamour o’er his sight—

A something vague, indefinite—

An oft-recurring blur that blinds

The printed meaning of the lines,

And leaves the mind all dusk and dim

In swimming darkness—strange to him!

It is not childishness, I guess,—

Yet something of the tenderness

That used to wet his lashes when

A boy seems troubling him again;—

The old emotion, sweet and wild,

That drove him truant when a child,

That he might hide the tears that fell

Above the lesson—“Little Nell.”

And so it is he puts aside

The poem he has vainly tried

To follow; and, as one who sighs

In failure, through a poor disguise

Of smiles, he dries his tears, to say

His eyes are not themselves to-day.