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Robert Lee Frost (Роберт Ли Фрост) A Peck of Gold Dust always blowing about the town, Except when sea-fog laid it down, And I was one of the children told Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high Appeared like god in the sunset sky, But I was one of the children told Some of the dust was really gold. Such was life in the Golden Gate: Gold dusted all we drank and ate, And I was one of the children told, ’We all must eat our peck of gold.’ Robert Lee Frost's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1203 |
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