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Thomas Bailey Aldrich (Томас Бейли Олдрич) At Stratford-upon-Avon THUS spake his dust (so seemed it as I read The words): Good frend for Jesvs’ sake forbeare (Poor ghost!) To digg the dvst enclosed heare,— Then came the malediction on the head Of who so dare disturb the sacred dead. Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear, And, touched with the sweet glamour of the year, The winding Avon murmured in its bed. But in the little Stratford church the air Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb The evening shadows deepened momently: Then a great awe crept on me, standing there, As if some speechless Presence in the gloom Was hovering, and fain would speak with me. Thomas Bailey Aldrich's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1302 |
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