Читать книгу The Ballad of Reading Gaol - Оскар Уайльд, Wilde Oscar, F. H. Cornish - Страница 3

   No things of air these antics were

                 That frolicked with such glee:

               To men whose lives were held in gyves,

                 And whose feet might not go free,

               Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,

                 Most terrible to see.

               Around, around, they waltzed and wound;

                 Some wheeled in smirking pairs:

               With the mincing step of demirep

                 Some sidled up the stairs:

               And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,

                 Each helped us at our prayers.

               The morning wind began to moan,

                 But still the night went on:

               Through its giant loom the web of gloom

                 Crept till each thread was spun:

               And, as we prayed, we grew afraid

                 Of the Justice of the Sun.

               The moaning wind went wandering round

                 The weeping prison-wall:

               Till like a wheel of turning-steel

                 We felt the minutes crawl: