Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик))

To Laurels

A funeral stone
Or verse, I covet none;
But only crave
Of you that I may have
A sacred laurel springing from my grave:
Which being seen
Blest with perpetual green,
May grow to be
Not so much call'd a tree,
As the eternal monument of me.

1. Upon Tears
2. Felicity Quick of Flight
3. Purposes
4. No Pains, No Gains
5. Upon a Painted Gentlewoman

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1605

Последние стихотворения

To English version