Читать книгу The Branch Will Not Break - James Wright A. - Страница 11

That man standing there, who is he?

His path lost in the thicket,

Behind him the bushes

Lash back together,

The grass rises again,

The waste devours him.

Oh, who will heal the sufferings

Of the man whose balm turned poison?

Who drank nothing

But hatred of men from love’s abundance?

Once despised, now a despiser,

He kills his own life,

The precious secret.

The self-seeker finds nothing.

Oh Father of Love,

If your psaltery holds one tone

That his ear still might echo,