Читать книгу Summer of Love - Joyce Kilmer - Страница 12

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As down the primrose path to Love I trod

The golden flowers kissed my eager feet,

The wayside trees with singing birds were sweet,

The summer air was like the smile of God.

“Turn back!” said one, “escape the avenging rod.

Soon thou the deathless flames of Hell shall meet.”

But I pressed on and thought of no retreat,

Till soon with fire I was clothed and shod.

But through the burning vales of Hell where flow

The molten streams of bitterest despair,

Made blind by pain I stumbled on, and lo!

I stood at last in Love’s own perfumed air.

So, having reached my journey’s end I know

That God made Hell to be Love’s thoroughfare.