Her blazing hair flares up the sky,
The azure sky of undulating clouds.
The metaphors are useless, you can try –
A distant star, an ever blooming flower.
Though expert with the oils and the brush,
She needs no paint to send the colors fusing,
For when she walks and laughs they rise and rush
At her command to fill the space with music.
Oh, you can try to measure scents of fall,
And study hard the petals of a tulip…
But all in vain - by formulas enthralled –
The man who measures beauty with a ruler.
So can you learn her eyes, her blazing fire? –
They aren’t to learn, my friend, but to admire.
23.05.04
Sonnet III
© Copyright: Маленький Принц, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104062500302
Свидетельство о публикации №104062500302
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