Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло)

Autumn Within

It is autumn; not without,
  But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
  It is I that have grown old. 

Birds are darting through the air,
  Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,

  Save within my lonely breast. 

There is silence: the dead leaves
  Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves
  Comes no murmur from the mill.

1. Thangbrand the Priest
2. King Trisanku
3. Milton
4. Becalmed
5. The Warden of the Cinque Ports

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1677

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