09 November 2010

"To Toussaint L'Ouverture", William Wordsworth

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men
 Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
 Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed in some deep dungeon’s earless den;
O Miserable Chieftain! Where and when
 Wilt thou find Patience? Yet die not; do thou
 Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
 Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There’s not a breathing of the common wind
 That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
 And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.

No comments:

Post a Comment