Leave Nature to the empty or content.
And then, its very essence has been shamed:
A stretch of woods, cut tabloid-size and maimed,
A hillside with some cottages for rent.
It is to urban ways my heart is bent,
The waterside, by quayes and bridges tamed,
The clouds, most beautiful of all when, framed
By windowsills, they move where they are sent.
Anything's grand to those who hope for less.
Life hides from us the wonders it can hold
'Till it allows us, suddenly, to meet.
This I was driven lately to confess,
In morning drizzle, soaking wet and cold,
Just happy, here on 52nd Street.
Vorm: Sonnet, vertaald in het Engels
© Hendrik Jan Bosman (website klik hier)