Стихи и рассказы из категории sleeping

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Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep,— A tender infant with its curtain'd eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumbe...
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Earliest morning, switching all the tracksthat cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets to trains of draw us into daylight in our beds;and clear away what presses on the brain: put out the neon shapes that float and swe...
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It is so peaceful on the ceiling
It is the Place de la Concorde
The little crystal chandelieris off, the fountain is in the dark
Not a soul is in the park
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Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,
Sleeping at last
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I show her how to put her arms around me, but she’s much too small
What’s worse, she doesn’t understand
And although she lies beside me, sticking out her tongue, it’s herself she licks
She likes my stroking hand
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