|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
Clinton Scollard (Клинтон Сколлард) The Hunter I crept up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar; Mist swooped on the heather, mist swept down the shore, And all of the tongues of the mountain, they murmured behind and before. Then out of a cleft rose a terrible cry, And a form like a demon went ravening by, And I fell in a quake on the moss, and I thought I should die. I 'm no hunting man now, and I sit by the fire, And whenever the wind keens around by the byre, I shiver and rock like a reed that has root in the mire. And if you 're a young man, and sound to the core, And a sweet maid is waiting you home at the door, Beware how you creep up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar! Clinton Scollard's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1189 |
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |