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The Love of Narcissus Like him who met his own eyes in the river, The poet trembles at his own long gaze That meets him through the changing nights and days From out great Nature; all her waters quiver With his fair image facing him for ever; The music that he listens to betrays His own heart to his ears; by trackless ways His wild thoughts tend to him in long endeavour. His dreams are far among the silent hills; His vague voice calls him from the darkened plain With winds at night; strange recognition thrills His lonely heart with piercing love and pain; He knows again his mirth in mountain rills, His weary tears that touch him with the rain. Alice Meynell's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1187 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |