Читать книгу Gypsy Verses - Whitney Helen Hay - Страница 9

I sinned, but gloriously. I bore the fall

From Heaven’s high places as becomes a king.

I did not shrink before the utmost sting

Of torture or of banishment. The pall

Of Dis, I cried, should be the hall

Where sad proud men of men should meet and sing

The woes of that defeat ambitions bring

Hurled from the last vain fight against the wall.

I thought I had been punished. To forego

All lovely sights, the whisper of fresh rain,

To brood forever endlessly on pain

Yet still a Prince, Ah God, I dreamed,—and then

I learned my Fate, this wandering to and fro

In Devil’s work among the sons of men.