Rupert Chawner Brooke (Руперт Брук)

Song (The way of love was thus)

The way of love was thus.
He was born one winter morn
With hands delicious,
And it was well with us.

Love came our quiet way,
Lit pride in us, and died in us,
All in a winter's day.
There is no more to say.

1. The True Beatitude
2. He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
3. Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body
4. The Way That Lovers Use
5. Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1864

Последние стихотворения

To English version