Claude McKay (Клод Маккей)

O Word I Love to Sing

O word I love to sing! thou art too tender 
For all the passions agitating me; 
For all my bitterness thou art too tender, 
I cannot pour my red soul into thee. 

O haunting melody! thou art too slender, 
Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass; 
For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender, 
The burden from my bosom will not pass. 

O tender word! O melody so slender! 
O tears of passion saturate with brine, 
O words, unwilling words, ye can not render 
My hatred for the foe of me and mine.

1. Alfonso, Dressing to Wait at Table
2. The Wild Goat
3. The Tired Worker
4. Tormented
5. Flirtation

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1202

Последние стихотворения

To English version