1 мин
Слушать(AI)Sung
Now only words in a rhyme,
no more than a name
on a stone,
and that well overgrown –
MAR- -ORIS—;
and wind through a ruined croft,
the door an appalled mouth,
the window’s eye put out;
hours and wishes and trysts
less than the shadows of clouds on grass,
ghosts that did dance, did dance…
and those who would gladly die for love lang deid-
a skull for a bonnie head-
and love itself a metaphor, rose, red.
Carol Ann Duffy
Dame Carol Ann Duffy (born 23 December 1955) is a British poet and playwright. She is a professor of contemporary poetry at Manchester Metropoli
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Ship
In the end, it was nothing more than the toy boat of a boy on the local park’s lake,
The Look
The heron’s the look of the river. The moon’s the look of the night. The sky’s the look of forever. Snow is the look of white.
If I Was Dead
If I was dead, and my bones adrift like dropped oars in the deep, turning earth;
The Scottish Prince
Every summer, I visit the Scottish Prince at his castle high on a hill outside Crieff. We dine on haggis and tatties and neeps – I drink water with mine and the Prince sips