Lola Ridge (Лола Ридж)

Debris

  I love those spirits
  That men stand off and point at,
  Or shudder and hood up their souls--
  Those ruined ones,
  Where Liberty has lodged an hour
  And passed like flame,
  Bursting asunder the too small house.

1. To the Others
2. The Destroyer
3. Broadway
4. The Foundling
5. Palestine

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1285

Последние стихотворения

To English version