1 мин
Слушать(AI)Blue Squills
How many million Aprils
Before I ever
How white a cherry bough could be,
A bed of squills, how blue!
And many a dancing
When life is done with me,
Will lift the blue flame of the
And the white flame of the tree.
Oh burn me with your beauty, then,
Oh hurt me, tree and flower,
Lest in the end death try to
Even this glistening hour.
O shaken flowers,
O shimmering trees,
O sunlit white and blue,
Wound me, that I, through endless sleep,
May bear the scar of you.
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
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Love Songs
I have remembered beauty in the night, Against black silences I waked to seeA shower of sunlight over And green Ravello dreaming on her height; I have remembered music in the dark,
The Look
Strephon kissed me in the Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at And never kissed at all
Spring In War Time
I feel the spring far off, far off, The faint, far scent of bud and leaf --Oh, how can spring take heart to come To a world in grief, Deep grief The sun turns north, the days grow long, Later the evening star grows bright --How can the daylig...
Leaves
One by one, like leaves from a tree All my faiths have forsaken me; But the stars above my head Burn in white and delicate red, And beneath my feet the earth Brings the sturdy grass to birth I who was content to be But a silken-sing...