1 min read
Слушать(AI)Snow
No breath of wind,
No gleam of sun – Still the white
Whirls softly
Twig and
And blade and
All in an
Quiet, forlorn.
Whispering, rustling,
Through the
On still and stone,
Roof, - everywhere,
It heaps its
Crystal flakes,
Of every treeA mountain makes;‘Til pale and
At shut of
Stoops from the
One wint’ry ray,
And, feathered in
Where ghosts the moon,
A robin
His lonely tune.
Walter de la Mare
Walter John de la Mare (25 April 1873 – 22 June 1956) was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist. He is probably best remembered for
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Huntsmen
Three jolly gentlemen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed Three jolly gentlemen Snored till morn,
Comfort
As I mused by the hearthside, Puss said to me;there burns the fire , man,and here sit we Four walls around usagainst the cold air;and the latch drawn closeto the draughty stair A roof o'er our headsstar-proof, moon immune,and ...
Tartary
If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself, and me alone, My bed should be of ivory, Of beaten gold my throne;
The Pigs and the Charcoal-burner
The old Pig said to the little pigs,'In the forest is truffles and mast, Follow me then, all ye little pigs, Follow me fast 'The Charcoal-burner sat in the
