Ineffability
C
Clark Ashton Smith
0
Altın Yaprak
Thy deepest dolor shalt thou tell,
But nevermore thy happiness:
Unworded still and utterless,
The incredible dark raptures dwell.
Too readily our lips repine
For splendor lost and beauty flown:
Our speech is made of earthly moan
And not the praise of things divine.
Ah, facile are the songs we sing
To dulcimers that sorrows mute:
But joy requires a stronger lute
Of high unshatterable string.
Bu şiiri puanla
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