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Florence Earle Coates (Флоренс Эрл Коутс) In Darkness I will be still; The terror drawing nigh Shall startle from my lips no coward cry; Nay, though the night my deadliest dread fulfill, I will be still. For, oh! I know, Though suffering hours delay, Yet to Eternity they pass away, Carrying something onward as they flow, Outlasting woe! Yes, something won; The harvest of our tears,— Something unfading, plucked from fading years; Something to blossom on beyond the sun, From Sorrow won. The agony So hopeless now of balm Shall sleep at last, in light as pure and calm As that wherewith the stars look down on thee, Gethsemane. Florence Earle Coates's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1251 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |