William Morris (Уильям Моррис)

In Prison

Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind's song,
Bending the banner-poles.

While, all alone,
Watching the loophole's spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square-letter'd
With prison'd men's groan.

Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind's song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong. 

1. Of The Three Seekers
2. The Flowering Orchard
3. Sad-Eyed and Soft and Grey
4. The King Of Denmark's Sons
5. From the Upland to the Sea

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1554

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