The Philosopher by Emily Brontë — Poetry Reading скачать в хорошем качестве

The Philosopher by Emily Brontë — Poetry Reading

The Philosopher | Emily Brontë     Enough of thought, philosopher!     Too long hast thou been dreaming     Unlightened, in this chamber drear,     While summer's sun is beaming!     Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain     Concludes thy musings once again?     "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep     Without identity.     And never care how rain may steep,     Or snow may cover me!     No promised heaven, these wild desires     Could all, or half fulfil;     No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,     Subdue this quenchless will!"     "So said I, and still say the same;     Still, to my death, will say,     Three gods, within this little frame,     Are warring night; and day;     Heaven could not hold them all, and yet     They all are held in me;     And must be mine till I forget     My present entity!     Oh, for the time, when in my breast     Their struggles will be o'er!     Oh, for the day, when I shall rest,     And never suffer more!"     "I saw a spirit, standing, man,     Where thou dost stand, an hour ago,     And round his feet three rivers ran,     Of equal depth, and equal flow,     A golden stream, and one like blood;     And one like sapphire seemed to be;     But, where they joined their triple flood     It tumbled in an inky sea     The spirit sent his dazzling gaze     Down through that ocean's gloomy night;     Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze,     The glad deep sparkled wide and bright,     White as the sun, far, far more fair     Than its divided sources were!"     "And even for that spirit, seer,     I've watched and sought my life-time long;     Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air,     An endless search, and always wrong.     Had I but seen his glorious eye     ONCE light the clouds that wilder me;     I ne'er had raised this coward cry     To cease to think, and cease to be;     I ne'er had called oblivion blest,     Nor stretching eager hands to death,     Implored to change for senseless rest     This sentient soul, this living breath,     Oh, let me die, that power and will     Their cruel strife may close;     And conquered good, and conquering ill     Be lost in one repose!" Photo: Daniel Leone