Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)

A Song

It means so little to you
To sing a note as you pass,
To smile your thanks to the day
For donning its cloudless blue
And then to go your way,
And leave behind in the grass
The print of your little shoe
Or a petal dropt from your rose
And your touch on the vine that grows
Over my cottage door:
It is nothing at all to you.

But to me, it is alms to the poor,
And the light of day to the blind,
And hope to the desolate;
Though you never have once glanced through
The window where, half-defined,
Half-hidden, I watch and wait--
For it means so little to you.

1. Sonnets. 11. A few of us who faltered as we fared
2. Sonnets. 5. When all is said, we can but turn our eyes
3. For Joan
4. A Christening
5. The Story-Teller

Alfred Douglas (Альфред Дуглас) A Song ("Steal from the meadows, rob the tall green hills")

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1665

Последние стихотворения

To English version