Сонет N 6 Синяя борода

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

This door you might not open, and you did;

So enter now, and see for what slight thing

You are betrayed… Here is no treasure hid,

No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring

The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain

For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,

But only what you see… Look yet again —

An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.

Yet this alone out of my life I kept

Unto myself, lest any know me quite;

And you did so profane me when you crept

Unto the threshold of this room to-night

That I must never more behold your face.

This now is yours. I seek another place.