letra de r. d. blackmore - to fame - ghizela rowe
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right fairy of the morn, with flowers arrayed
whose beauties to thy young pursuer seem
beyond the ecstasy of poet’s dream–
shall i overtake thee, ere thy l-stre fade?
ripe glory of the noon, august, and proud
a vision of high purpose, power, and sk!ll
that melteth into mirage of good-will–
do i o’ertake thee, or embrace a cloud?
gray shadow of the evening, gaunt and bare
at random cast, beyond me or above
and cold as memory in the arms of love–
if i o’ertook thee now, what should i care?
“no morn, or noon, or evе am i,” she said;
“but night–the depth of night bеhind the sun;
by all mankind pursued; but never won
until my shadow falls upon a shade.”
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