Читать книгу Borgia - Michael Field E. - Страница 89

Thrown out as dust and refuse to the river,

My worship!—leaving me

As one who is no more. My life’s high hope

Snatched under darkness, sodden,

A dead boy, who was proud and beautiful.

Francesco, in a single night! O Cousin,

I thought that he was comforting his youth

In a kind Thaïs’ arms and he was down

At the bottom of that river!