Читать книгу Borgia - Michael Field E. - Страница 116

I thank God for this sleep. Those fearful days

I knelt against his door! The raving wildness

I heard at times—inhospitable sorrow,

Aloof from our Creator! Then, dashed down,

The heavy frame wept like a haunted child’s.

Then silence

Too perilous to spread! I beat the door.