Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Sonnets. 3. Once, Love, be prodigal, nor look hereafter
Once, Love, be prodigal, nor look hereafter, Not though experience unrolls the years And bids thee count the cost of golden laughter In the dull coinage of leaden tears. O perjured wisdom! half-truth hedged with lies! That makes a common stake of joy and pain, When tears are man’s most mortal certainties And every instant’s joy his heavenly gain. Ah, mystery that sowed our breath and being, What harvest wilt thou get of untilled powers? Why didst thou give us sight if not for seeing? Why if we dare not hear make hearing ours? Or why in life’s name this high passion of love But in life’s name its passionate height to prove?
Eleanor Farjeon’s other poems:
