Читать книгу The Black Panther: A book of poems - John Hall Wheelock - Страница 9

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When to a cheap and tawdry tune the orchestra cried out,

Frantic, in violent syncopation, and began

Your holy, adorable body in mournful grace to move about

Through the old, devious motions, the device of man—

How suddenly then, silent magnificence, you put to shame

The crowded and garish theatre, the strangled cries

Of flute and trumpet! O mortal body, bearer of our flame

Through the drear lands of death, flower of the eternities!

Revered, reviled, wept and adored, beseeched, cried out upon

By ravening lips of the ages—the sacred source of things,

That glimmered in Thrace, that shone in Rome, that swayed in Babylon,

Here moves to the vile throb of castanets and strings.

O through what generations have you lured, what secret ways,

Man’s fainting heart to be reborn! What splendors move

Deep in his breast when, dolorous, your reluctant beauty sways

In the old weary rhythms of eternal love!