Сонет N 30 За что люблю

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Sometimes when I am wearied suddenly

Of all the things that are the outward you,

And my gaze wanders ere your tale is through

To webs of my own weaving, or I see

Abstractedly your hands about your knee

And wonder why I love you as I do,

Then I recall, "Yet Sorrow thus he drew";

Then I consider, "Pride thus painted he".

Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note

In me a beauty that was never mine,

How first you knew me in a book I wrote,

How first you loved me for a written line:

So are we bound till broken is the throat

Of Song, and Art no more leads out the Nine.