Isaac Rosenberg (Айзек Розенберг)

The Troop Ship

Grotesque and queerly huddled
Contortionists to twist
The sleepy soul to a sleep,
We lie all sorts of ways
And cannot sleep.
The wet wind is so cold,
And the lurching men so careless,
That, should you drop to a doze,
Winds' fumble or men's feet
Are on your face. 

1. A Worm Fed on the Heart of Corinth
2. Home-Thoughts From France
3. In the Underworld
4. The Nun
5. The Female God

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1701

Последние стихотворения

To English version