Harry Graham: The Pessimist
Life's bed is full of crumbs and rice,
No roses float on my lagoon;
There are no fingers, white and nice,
To rub my head with scented ice
Or feed me with a spoon.
I think of all the days gone by,
Replete with black and blue regret;
No comets light my glaucous sky,
My tears are hardly ever dry,
I never can forget!
I see the yellow dog, Desire,
That strains against the lead of Hope,
With lilac eyes and lips of fire,
As all in vain he strives to tire
The hand that holds the rope.
I see the kisses of the past,
Like lambkins dying in the snow,
The honeymoon that did not last,
The tinted youth that flew so fast,
And all this vale of woe.
So, raising high my raucous cry,
I ask (and Fates no answer give),
Why am I pre-ordained to die?
O cruel Fortune, tell me, why
Am I allowed to live?
Sonntag, 11. Dezember 2016
Harry Graham (7)
Ein Gedicht aus »Verse and Worse« im Maurice Maeterlinck- bzw. Dorothy Parker-Ton: