1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Watch
I
ED on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.
Frances Darwin Cornford
Frances Crofts Cornford (née Darwin; 30 March 1886 – 19 August 1960) was an English poet; because of the similarity of her first name, her fathe
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Guitarist Tunes Up
With what attentive courtesy he Over his instrument; Not as a lordly conquerer who Command both wire and wood,
In France
HE poplars in the fields of France Are golden ladies come to dance ; But yet to see them there is none But I and the September sun The girl who in their shadow sits Can only see the sock she knits ; Her dog is watching all the day T...
To a Lady Seen From the Train
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves, Missing so much and so much O fat white woman whom nobody loves, Why do you walk through the fields in gloves, When the grass is soft as the breast of doves And shivering sweet to the ...
The Ragwort
HE thistles on the sandy flats Are courtiers with crimson hats ; The ragworts, growing up so straight, Are emperors who stand in state, And march about, so proud and bold,
