Читать книгу Selected Works of Voltairine de Cleyre - Voltairine De Cleyre - Страница 11

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Some souls there are which never live their life;

Some suns there are which never pierce their cloud;

Some hearts there are which cup their perfume in,

And yield no incense to the outer air.

Cloud-shrouded, flower-cupped heart: such is thine own:

So dost thou live with all thy brightness hid;

So dost thou dwell with all thy perfume close;

Rich in thy treasured wealth, aye, rich indeed—

And they are wrong who say thou "dost not feel."

But I—I need blue air and opened bloom;

To keep my music means that it must die;

And when the thrill, the joy, the love of life is gone,

I, too, am dead—a corpse, though not entombed.

Let me live then—but a while—the gloom soon comes,

The flower closes and the petals shut;

Through them the perfume slips out, like a soul—

The long, still sleep of death—and then the Grave.

Cleveland, Ohio, March, 1889.