Robert Lee Frost (Роберт Ли Фрост)

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise.

1. The Valley’s Singing Day
2. The Hill Wife
3. Putting in the Seed
4. Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight
5. Bond and Free

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1128

Последние стихотворения

To English version