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Walter Savage Landor (Уолтер Сэвидж Лэндор)


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With rosy hand a little girl prest down
A boss of fresh-cull'd cowslips in a rill:
Often as they sprang up again, a frown
Show'd she disliked resistance to her will:
But when they droopt their heads and shone much less,
She shook them to and fro, and threw them by,
And tript away. 'Ye loathe the heaviness
Ye love to cause, my little girls!' thought I,
'And what had shone for you, by you must die.'



Walter Savage Landor's other poems:
  1. Ternissa! You Are Fled!
  2. Fiesole Idyl
  3. The Lover
  4. Pleasure! Why Thus Desert the Heart
  5. On Seeing a Hair of Lucretia Borgia


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