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Edith Matilda Thomas (Эдит Матильда Томас) The Mother Who Died Too She was so little—little in her grave, The wide earth all around so hard and cold— She was so little! therefore did I crave My arms might still her tender form enfold. She was so little, and her cry so weak When she among the heavenly children came— She was so little—I alone might speak For her who knew no word nor her own name. Edith Matilda Thomas's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1228 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |