Читать книгу A Parody Anthology - Wells Carolyn - Страница 10

Go, flaunting Rose!

Tell her that wastes her love on thee,

That she nought knows

Of the New Cult, Intensity,

If sweet and fair to her you be.

Tell her that's young,

Or who in health and bloom takes pride,

That bards have sung

Of a new youth – at whose sad side

Sickness and pallor aye abide.

Small is the worth

Of Beauty in crude charms attired.

She must shun mirth,

Have suffered, fruitlessly desired,

And wear no flush by hope inspired.

Then die, that she

May learn that Death is passing fair;

May read in thee

How little of Art's praise they share,

Who are not sallow, sick, and spare!