Lesbia Harford (Лесбия Харфорд)

* * *

She has all Ireland in her blood,
All Ireland's need of sword and tears,
With memories dim before the flood,
And conflicts of a thousand years.
No son of Italy should love
A heart the centuries have worn.
She had no thought of kissing lips—
She held her womanhood in scorn.
And all her joy is blackest pain,
And all her love is bitter woe.
Then you must leave her side again.
That is no path for you to go.

1. Do you remember still the little song
2. Child Sun
3. A Bronte Legend
4. Pink eucalyptus flowers
5. Machinist Talking

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1145

Последние стихотворения

To English version