Читать книгу Poems - William Ernest Henley - Страница 6

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The gaunt brown walls

Look infinite in their decent meanness.

There is nothing of home in the noisy kettle,

The fulsome fire.

The atmosphere

Suggests the trail of a ghostly druggist.

Dressings and lint on the long, lean table—

Whom are they for?

The patients yawn,

Or lie as in training for shroud and coffin.

A nurse in the corridor scolds and wrangles.

It’s grim and strange.

Far footfalls clank.

The bad burn waits with his head unbandaged.

My neighbour chokes in the clutch of chloral …

O, a gruesome world!