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The Fiddler In a little Hungarian cafe Men and women are drinking Yellow wine in tall goblets. Through the milky haze of the smoke, The fiddler, under-sized, blond, Leans to his violin As to the breast of a woman. Red hair kindles to fire On the black of his coat-sleeve, Where his white thin hand Trembles and dives, Like a sliver of moonlight, When wind has broken the water. Lola Ridge's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1325 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |