Читать книгу No One Can Stem the Tide - Jane Tyson Clement - Страница 31

25

O stars, yield me a portion of your still

vast reaches that the lovely wind has known;

O hall of night, where quiet walks in peace,

where bright flowers of a slumberous dark have grown,

speak to my heart of patience and release.

Single I stand upon the unsheltered hill.

If love will fail and all my faith must be

unbuttressed and unchampioned; if my soul

must hold itself its own security

and seek alone the hard and perilous goal,

give me – O earth that knows its destiny

unquestioning – the wisdom that the flower

finds when it dies, the knowledge that the hour

gains when the last clear minute ticks away;

yield me admittance, so with secret power,

though lone, I may go downward into day.