Читать книгу Sister-Sister - Rachel Zadok - Страница 4

The road swallows people and sometimes at night you can hear them calling for help, begging to be freed from inside its stomach.

— Ben Okri, The Famished Road

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist

Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;

Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed

By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;

Make not your rosary of yew-berries,

Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be

Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl

A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;

For shade to shade will come too drowsily,

And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

— John Keats, “Ode on Melancholy”