"George Gordon, Lord Byron. The deformed transformed " - читать интересную книгу автора

Stran.
Less will content me;
For I, too, love a change.

Arn.
Your aspect is
Dusky, but not uncomely.

Stran.
If I chose,
I might be whiter; but I have a penchant
For black-it is so honest, and, besides,
Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear;
But I have worn it long enough of late,
And now I'll take your figure.

Arn.
Mine!

Stran.
Yes. You
Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha,
Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes;
You have yours-I mine.

Arn.
Despatch! despatch!

Stran.
Even so.
[The Stranger takes some earth and moulds it along the turf,
and then addresses the phantom of Achilles.

Beautiful shadow
Of Thetis's boy!
Who sleeps in the meadow
Whose grass grows o'er Troy:
From the red earth, like Adam,
Thy likeness I shape,
As the Being who made him,
Whose actions I ape.
Thou Clay, be all glowing,
Till the Rose in his cheek
Be as fair as, when blowing,
It wears its first streak!

Ye Violets, I scatter,
Now turn into eyes!
And thou, sunshiny Water,