Читать книгу Sapphic Classics - Sappho - Страница 35

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Love, let the wind cry

On the dark mountain,

Bending the ash-trees

And the tall hemlocks,

With the great voice of 5

Thunderous legions,

How I adore thee.

Let the hoarse torrent

In the blue canyon,

Murmuring mightily 10

Out of the grey mist

Of primal chaos,

Cease not proclaiming

How I adore thee.

Let the long rhythm 15

Of crunching rollers,

Breaking and bellowing

On the white seaboard,

Titan and tireless,

Tell, while the world stands, 20

How I adore thee.

Love, let the clear call

Of the tree-cricket,

Frailest of creatures,

Green as the young grass, 25

Mark with his trilling

Resonant bell-note,

How I adore thee.

Let the glad lark-song

Over the meadow, 30

That melting lyric

Of molten silver,

Be for a signal

To listening mortals,

How I adore thee. 35

But more than all sounds,

Surer, serener,

Fuller with passion

And exultation,

Let the hushed whisper 40

In thine own heart say,

How I adore thee.