|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
Edmund Clarence Stedman (Эдмунд Кларенс Стедман) Abraham Lincoln Assassinated Good Friday, 1865 "Forgive them, for they know not what they do!" He said, and so went shriven to his fate,— Unknowing went, that generous heart and true. Even while he spoke the slayer lay in wait, And when the morning opened Heaven's gate There passed the whitest soul a nation knew. Henceforth all thoughts of pardon are too late; They, in whose cause that arm its weapon drew, Have murdered Mercy. Now alone shall stand Blind Justice, with the sword unsheathed she wore. Hark, from the eastern to the western strand, The swelling thunder of the people's roar: What words they murmur,—Fetter not her hand! So let it smite, such deeds shall be no more! Edmund Clarence Stedman's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1189 |
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |