Читать книгу Borgia - Michael Field E. - Страница 93

He has ridden

Beyond the walls, at some castello wooing

Maiden or wife, since summer bans the chase;

A foolish pastime ’mid infested country!

But now the vineyards are as silken tents

For Amor’s camp. I am too precipitous

In passion: I must wait another night,

And then ... fold him again

Upon my heart! Go back, go back, my heart!

Patience! [He finds himself at the window. But see, there, see The lights are sailing to one point. Out yonder What is that spot of dusk?