حيدر الكربلائي
04-05-2009, 05:41 PM
A Sonnet for Elizabeth Browning
i thougth once how Theocritus had sung
of the sweet years,the dear and wished for years
who each one in gracious hand appears
to bear a gift for mortals,old or young
and,as i mused it in his antique tongue
i saw, in gradual vision through my tears
the sweet ,sad years, the melancholy years
those of my own life,who by turns had flung
a shadow across me.Strightway I was aware
so weeping,how a mystic shape did move
behind me, and drew me backward by the hair
and a voice said in mastery.while I strove
''guss now who holds thee.?'' ''Death? I said
''but there, the silver answer rang ''Not Death but Love
i thougth once how Theocritus had sung
of the sweet years,the dear and wished for years
who each one in gracious hand appears
to bear a gift for mortals,old or young
and,as i mused it in his antique tongue
i saw, in gradual vision through my tears
the sweet ,sad years, the melancholy years
those of my own life,who by turns had flung
a shadow across me.Strightway I was aware
so weeping,how a mystic shape did move
behind me, and drew me backward by the hair
and a voice said in mastery.while I strove
''guss now who holds thee.?'' ''Death? I said
''but there, the silver answer rang ''Not Death but Love