Читать книгу The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics - Madison Julius Cawein - Страница 10

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Now when wan winter sunsets be

Canary-colored down the sky;

When nights are starless utterly,

And sleeted winds cut moaning by,

One's memory keeps one company,

And conscience puts his "when" and "why."

Such inquisition, when alone,

Wakes superstition in the head,

A Gorgon face of hueless stone

With staring eyes to terror wed,

Stamped on her brow God's words, "Unknown!

Behind the dead, behind the dead."

And, oh! that weariness of soul

That leans upon our dead, the clod

And air have taken as a whole

Through some mysterious period:—

Life! with thy questions of control:

Death! with thy unguessed laws of God.