Duncan Campbell Scott (Дункан Кэмпбелл Скотт)
From the Farm on the Hill
TO A.P.S. The night wind moves the gloom In the shadowy basswood; Mysteriously the leaves sway and sing; So slow, so tender is the wind, The slender elm-tree Is hardly stirred. The sky is veiled with clouds, With diaphanous tissue; Through their dissolving films The stars shine, But how infinitely removed; How inaccessible! In the distant city Under the obscure towers The lights of watchers gleam; From the dim fields At intervals in the silence A cuckoo utters A distorted cry; Through the low woods, Haunted with vain melancholy, A whip-poor-will wanders, Forcing his monotonous song. All the ancient desire Of the human spirit Has returned upon me in this hour, All the wild longing That cannot be satisfied. Break, O anguish of nature, Into some glorious sound! Let me touch the next circle of being, For I have compassed this life.
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