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Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей) The Curse Oh, lay my ashes on the wind That blows across the sea. And I shall meet a fisherman Out of Capri, And he will say, seeing me, ”What a Strange Thing! Like a fish’s scale or a Butterfly’s wing.” Oh, lay my ashes on the wind That blows away the fog. And I shall meet a farmer boy Leaping through the bog, And he will say, seeing me, ”What a Strange Thing! Like a peat-ash or a Butterfly’s wing.” And I shall blow to YOUR house And, sucked against the pane, See you take your sewing up And lay it down again. And you will say, seeing me, ”What a strange thing! Like a plum petal or a Butterfly’s wing.” And none at all will know me That knew me well before. But I will settle at the root That climbs about your door, And fishermen and farmers May see me and forget, But I’ll be a bitter berry In your brewing yet. Edna St. Vincent Millay's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1327 |
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