You are here
قراءة كتاب The Tongues of Toil And Other Poems
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
lay your hands upon the sun
And try with bonds to bind the morning light,
As well on the four winds to spend your might,
As well to strive against the streams that run;
As well to bar the seasons, bid be done
The rain which falls; as well to blindly fight
Against the air, and at your folly's height
Aspire to make all power that is none.
As well to do this as to impeach
Man's tongue, and bid it answer to the schools;
As well to do all this, as give us rules.
And bid us hold our words within your reach;
As well as this, as try to chain man's speech.
So others learned before ye lived, O fools!
Magdalene Passes
| What one is this, that bears the band of shame within her breast, And wanders through the mocking land, denied a place of rest? What one is this, your hue and cry pursue with withering hate, Until her best hope is to die, nor meet a harder fate? This, this is she who hides her head in shame to gloom the sun; Who waits, as in their graves the dead, until the day is done; Whose tasks make pitiful the dark, and dreadful all the night, And leave her spirit striken stark and crushed at morning light. Beneath the shadows of silk and lace her form is spare and shrunk, And through the rogue upon her face see how her cheeks have sunk, Her lightsome laugh hides not her thought; her brow is scarred with care. And her flashing rings with jewels wrought, but gild and grace despair. Has she no tears to weep for grief, no voice to cry with woe, No memories panged beyond belief for joys of long ago, Has she no tortured dreams to smart, no anguish for her brow, Has she no broken bleeding heart, that you must curse her now? Is here no innocence o'erthrown, no wrecked sweet maidenhood, No sense of loss, like heavy stone, to make her doubt all good? Are here no women's ruined charms, no dead and withering breasts? Are here no hapless, vacant arms, which should lull babes to rest? And what are you, who at her gird, and deem yourselves unstained; Do you forget your black false word, the righteous act disdain, Your lust of power, the debtors tears, cold hunger's starving cries, And all the evil of your years, that clamors to the skies! Your horror is a vail to wear and cover o'er your deeds; Your wrongs are pointed at you there, though none your presence heeds. Your vileness would itself deny in falsest hate of hers; Gaze at yourself with inward eye, you whited sepulchers! Repent! Your vanity betrays, and wrenches reason strong, Until it wraps the truth to ways which shape a right of wrong; But every sin is still a sin; and if your hands be shriven, Her heart is no more black within, and she shall be forgiven. You ask not where those siren lips learned |