Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

Weeds

White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from damned seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

1. Renascence
2. Memorial to D.C.
3. Whereas At Morning In A Jeweled Crown
4. The True Encounter
5. The Leaf and the Tree

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1002

Последние стихотворения

To English version