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Clinton Scollard (Клинтон Сколлард)


Sylvia


Sylvia's hair is like the night,
Touched with glancing starry beams;
Such a face as drifts thro' dreams,
This is Sylvia to the sight.
And the touch of Sylvia's hand
Is as light as milkweed down,
When the meads are golden brown,
And the autumn fills the land.

Sylvia:- just the echoing
Of her voice brings back to me,
From the depths of memory,
All the loveliness of spring:
Sylvia! Sylvia!
Such a face as drifts thro' dreams,
This is Sylvia to the sight.



Clinton Scollard's other poems:
  1. The Statue
  2. May in Umbria
  3. The Archer
  4. Dawn in the Desert
  5. To William Sharp


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