A Brown Study
ET them sing of their primrose and cowslip, Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets, All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine, The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover, And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!
Gold hair?
Well,
I never could love it, Yet gold,
I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed, Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet, And as brown, is the hair of my dear.
From the edge of the cliff we look downwards On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on, The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,-- But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied, Should be brown as the dress that you wear.
A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing-- That tuft of brown grass is his home-- And now, a brown speck, he is rising Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know?
Love instructs me To know all his notes, what they mean-- That it isn't the colour I care for, But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!
Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language; It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning; But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.
Edith Nesbit
Другие работы автора
In Trouble
It's all for nothing: I've lost im now I suppose it ad to be: But oh I never thought it of im, Nor e never thought it of me And all for a kiss on your evening out An a field where the grass was down… And e as gone to God-knows-where...
The Last Betrayal
ND I shall lie alone at last, Clear of the stream that ran so fast, And feel the flower roots in my hair, And in my hands the roots of trees;
The Island
Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town, Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face Or, wrapt ...
England
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom, Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam, Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom, Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home<br...