Читать книгу Poems - Victor Hugo, Clara Inés Bravo Villarreal - Страница 40

     As when a mortal – Genius' prize, alack!

     Is, living, bound upon thy fatal back,

         Thou reinless racing steed!

     In vain he writhes, mere cloud upon a star,

     Thou bearest him as went Mazeppa, far

         Out of the flow'ry mead, —

     So – though thou speed'st implacable, (like him,

     Spent, pallid, torn, bruised, weary, sore and dim,

         As if each stride the nearer bring

     Him to the grave) – when comes the time,

     After the fall, he rises – KING!