1 min read
Слушать(AI)Roses And Rue
Bring me the roses white and red,
And take the laurel leaves away;
Yea, wreathe the roses round my
That wearies 'neath the crown of bay."We searched the wintry forests thro'And found no roses anywhere—But we have brought a little
To twine a circlet for your hair."I would not pluck the rose in May,
I wove a laurel crown instead;
And when the crown is cast away,
They bring me rue — the rose is dead.
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and use
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
A Minuet Of Mozarts
Across the dimly lighted room The violin drew wefts of sound, Airily they wove and wound And glimmered gold against the gloom
I Have Loved Hours At Sea
I have loved hours at sea, gray cities, The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a That gave me heaven for an hour;
The Kiss
I hoped that he would love me, And he has kissed my mouth, But I am like a stricken bird That cannot reach the south For though I know he loves me,
Snowfall
She can't be unhappy, you said, The smiles are like stars in her eyes, And her laughter is thistledown Around her low replies Is she unhappy you said— But who has ever known Another's heartbreak...
