Читать книгу Oxford Poetry 1917-1921 - Various Authors - Страница 11

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Dear Father God, I want but one thing now.

Because I have been heart-proud all my days,

And given and asked all proudly for Love's sake,

In search of some lost tenderness out of the world,

And somehow never found it, I want this.

I want to choose my death as I have chosen

Mine other lovers proudly, and cleave to him.

I do not want to die afraid and failing

Some king that trusted me; nor yet to leave

This beautiful bright-coloured world in anguish,

Dirt, ugliness, old age, or shamefully

Eaten up with lust. I want to make myself

Lovelier on that last day than any of these

My lovers yet have found me, and so to die

Calmly by mine own hand and follow after

That tenderness that somehow passed me by,

That tenderness that will not let me be.