Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 44

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Why did you come, with your enkindled eyes

And mountain-look, across my lower way,

And take the vague dishonour from my day

By luring me from paltry things, to rise

And stand beside you, waiting wistfully

The looming of a larger destiny?

Why did you with strong fingers fling aside

The gates of possibility, and say

With vital voice the words I dream to-day?

Before, I was not much unsatisfied:

But since a god has touched me and departed,

I run through every temple, broken-hearted.