Cuộc hành hương của chàng hiệp sĩ Childe Harolds - Khúc thứ ba (07) Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (07)

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (07)

Yet must I think less wildly: I HAVE thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy boiling and o’erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poisoned. ‘Tis too late!
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what time cannot abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing fate.