Stephen Crane (Стивен Крейн)

* * *

There was a great cathedral.
To solemn songs,
A white procession
Moved toward the altar.
The chief man there
Was erect, and bore himself proudly.
Yet some could see him cringe,
As in a place of danger,
Throwing frightened glances into the air,
A-start at threatening faces of the past.

1. Many red devils ran from my heart
2. I stood upon a highway
3. A little ink more or less!
4. There was set before me a mighty hill
5. Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1186

Последние стихотворения

To English version