Читать книгу Beyond the Hills of Dream - Wilfred Campbell - Страница 5

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The lake is blue with morning; and the sky

Sweet, clear, and burnished as an orient pearl.

High in its vastness scream and skim and whirl

White gull-flocks where the gleaming beaches die

Into dim distance, where great marshes lie.

Far in ashore the woods are warm with dreams,

The dew-wet road in ruddy sunlight gleams,

The sweet, cool earth, the clear blue heaven on high.

Across the morn a carolling school-boy goes,

Filling the world with youth to heaven’s stair;

Some chattering squirrel answers from his tree;

But down beyond the headland, where ice-floes

Are great in winter, pleading in mute prayer,

A dead, drowned face stares up immutably.