Here is woe, a self and not the mask of woe.
All the best sands of my life are somehow getting into the wrong end of the hourglass. If I could only reverse it! Were it in my power to do so, would I?
Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space—
In Twilight-land—in No-man’s land—
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.And who are you?” cried one, agape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
I know not,” said the second Shape,
I only died last night.”
Wide open and unguarded stand our gates,
Named of the four winds, North, South, East and West;
Portals that lead to an enchanted land…
Here, it is written, Toil shall have its wage
And Honor honor, and the humblest man
Stand level with the highest in the law.
Of such a land have men in dungeons dreamed
And with the vision brightening in their eyes
Gone smiling to the fagot and the sword.O Liberty, white Goddess! is it well
To leave the gates unguarded? On thy breast
Fold Sorrow’s children, soothe the hurts of Fate,
Lift the down-trodden, but with hand of steel
Stay those who to thy sacred portals come
To waste the gifts of Freedom.
Как драгоценна жизнь! Даже старики считают часы, как монеты – скупец!
Мы плачем, когда мы рождаемся, но не когда мы умираем!
То, что прекрасно, никогда не умирает, но становится частью другого прекрасного, звездной пыли или морской пены, цветка или быстрокрылого ветра.
За всю историю ни одна птица не издавала звука, который не был бы присущ первым птицам; с тех пор, как в нетронутом Эдеме пал человек, каждая роза была только подобием.