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Sanctuary This is the bricklayer; hear the thud Of his heavy load dumped down on stone. His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood, His smoking mortar whiter than bone. Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick Straight by the plumb-line’s shivering length; Make my marvelous wall so thick Dead nor living may shake its strength. Full as a crystal cup with drink Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool. . . . Stop, old man! You must leave a chink; How can I breathe? You can’t, you fool! Elinor Wylie's other poems:
Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1216 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |