Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)

The Sceptic

My Father Christmas passed away
When I was barely seven.
At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
I lost my hope of heaven.

Yet not in either lies the curse:
The hell of it's because
I don't know which loss hurt the worse --
My God or Santa Claus.

1. Old Sweethearts
2. Poor Kid
3. The Bliss of Ignorance
4. Poet's Path
5. Portent

Louisa Bevington (Луиза Бевингтон) The Sceptic ("SWEET were the faiths our wishes bred; cruel is faithless fate")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1461

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