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Alexander Anderson (Александр Андерсон) * * * If any song that I have sung Should rest a moment on the lips, Or linger kindly on the tongue Of friends, when death, whose finger tips Creep over mouths of men, has set His icy touch against my own, And I have passed beyond the fret Of life, and am no longer known Or seen within the simple street, Or by the meadows and the rills; But sunk within the past, as fleet As shadows fade among the hills. If such a song should linger still On lips behind me, let it be A voice that wakens at its will, And, singing, brings no thought of me. Alexander Anderson's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1203 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |