Резултати претраге

Delfica

Know you that ballad of antique romance,
Daphne, the song that never dies away,
Beneath the sycamore or pallid bay,
Olive or myrtle, or the willows’ dance?
 
That temple of great columns do you heed,
The lemons that were bitter to your teeth,
The cave that greets the passer-by with death,
Where sleeps the conquered dragon’s ancient seed?
 
In time they shall return, the gods you mourn

Artemis

Number Thirteen returns…and is yet number One,
And if not the one moment, the One all alone.
Are you Queen, you the first or the last of the line?
Are you King, you the lone or the last lover gone?
 
Love the one who has loved you from cradle to grave

Epitaph

At times he seemed a skylark, gaily singing,
A lover, now insouciant, now tender,
At times a dreamer like a sad Clitander,
Until one day he heard his doorbell ringing.
 
The visitor was Death He bade him wait
For one last sonnet, yet to be delivered.
And then he went and lay, dispassionate,
In the cold coffin, where his body shivered.
 
An idler – such was history’s reckoning –
He let his ink run dry, his pen fall dumb,
Wished for all knowledge, didn’t know one thing.
 
One winter night, tired of life’s tedium,
His time was up, his soul was on the wing.
He went, and said: ‘Why ever did I come?’
 

In the Luxembourg Gardens

She passed by, she was young,
Lithe as bird on the wing,
In her hand a bright flower,
On her lips a new song.
 
Could her heart, of all hearts,
Give my heart a response?
Could she lighten my dark
With the fire of her glance?
 
But no, my youth is finished...
Farewell, sweet ray that shone,
Girl, music, perfume, vanished:
Happiness, passing, gone!
 

Notre-Dame of Paris

Notre-Dame’s old. Who knows if, by and by,
She, who saw Paris born, shall see her die?
Ages shall pass. Time, as the wolf subdues
The ox, shall bring her heavy carcass down
With his dull tooth, shall twist her iron thews,
And gnaw her skeleton of ancient stone.
 
From every land on earth a throng shall stream
To view the dismal ruin, and shall dream,
Reading the fable that great Victor made:
They’ll see a vision of the hallowed pile,
Mighty and splendid in its antique style,
Rise up before them like a spectral shade!