And with your Wesendonk Otto
You are no more a kin.
Say to me three words only:
“Wagner, love me!”.
Far away glow fires
Of a hostile ship.
Never will ask Isolda:
Mark! Let me go free.
Noone will hear the oper
through all the centuries.
in the heart wrung by sorrow
it is as short as a blink.
And by the tartness salty
water drips into the mouth.
What else to do with Isolde
if to deprive of fire?
Her song has faded out
upon the meadows worldly.
It was a holy love,
And should be only holy.
Song of Isolde
© Copyright: Елизавета Судьина, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114091803907
Свидетельство о публикации №114091803907
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