To Helen
Автор книги Edgar Allan Poe
Время прослушивания 00:38,
Дата публикации
Средний уровень
Восхищаться, искусство
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Helen, thy beauty is to me.
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore.
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home.
To the glory that was Greece.
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo!
in yon brilliant window-niche.
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which.
Are Holy Land!
