1 мин
Слушать(AI)In The Fields
Lord when I look at lovely things which pass, Under old trees the shadow of young
Dancing to please the wind along the grass, Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;
Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this? And if there
Will the heart of any everlasting thing Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?
They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scent of hay,
Over the fields.
They come in spring.
Charlotte Mary Mew
Charlotte Mary Mew (15 November 1869 – 24 March 1928) was an English poet whose work spans the eras of Victorian poetry and Modernism.
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
In Nunhead Cemetery
It is the clay what makes the earth stick to his spade; He fills in holes like this year after year; The others have gone; they were tired, and half But I would rather be standing here;
Monsieur Qui Passe
A purple blot against the dead white In my friend's rooms, bathed in their vile pink light, I had not noticed her She snatched my eyes and threw them back to me:
I Have Been Through The Gates
His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers; I saw it then as we see things in dreams,—I do not remember how long I slept; I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the to...
The Peddler
Lend me, a little while, the That locks your heavy heart, and I'll give you back—Rarer than books and ribbons and beads bright to see, This little Key of Dreams out of my pack The road, the road, beyond men's bolted doors,
