Читать книгу Selected Poetry and Prose - Percy Bysshe Shelley - Страница 36

Alas, good friend, what profit can you see

In hating such a hateless thing as me?

There is no sport in hate where all the rage

Is on one side: in vain would you assuage

Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,

In which not even contempt lurks to beguile

Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.

Oh, conquer what you cannot satiate!

For to your passion I am far more coy

Than ever yet was coldest maid or boy

In winter noon. Of your antipathy

If I am the Narcissus, you are free

To pine into a sound with hating me.