Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)

The Cornfields

The cornfields rise above mankind, 
Lifting white torches to the blue, 
Each season not ashamed to be 
Magnificently decked for you. 

What right have you to call them yours, 
And in brute lust of riches burn 
Without some radiant penance wrought, 
Some beautiful, devout return?

1. With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses
2. What the Sexton Said
3. When Bryan Speaks
4. What the Gray-Winged Fairy Said
5. The Drunkards in the Street

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1173

Последние стихотворения

To English version