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Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн) Failure There are some souls Whose lot it is to set their hearts on goals That adverse Fate controls. While others win With little labor through life's dust and din, And lord-like enter in Immortal gates; And, of Success the high-born intimates, Inherit Fame's estates. . . Why is't the lot Of merit oft to struggle and yet not Attain? to toil for what? Simply to know The disappointment, the despair and woe Of effort here below? Ambitious still to reach Those lofty peaks, which men aspiring preach, For which their souls beseech: Those heights that swell Remote, removed, and unattainable, Pinnacle on pinnacle: Still yearning to attain Their far repose, above life's stress and strain, But all in vain, in vain!. . . Why hath God put Great longings in some souls and straightway shut All doors of their clay hut? The clay accurst That holds achievement back; from which, immersed, The spirit may not burst. Were it, at least, Not better to have sat at Circe's feast, If afterwards a beast? Than aye to bleed, To strain and strive, to toil in thought and deed, And nevermore succeed? Madison Julius Cawein's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1238 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |