Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce (Амброз Гвиннет Бирс)

Another Way

I lay in silence, dead. A woman came
 And laid a rose upon my breast, and said,
"May God be merciful." She spoke my name,
 And added, "It is strange to think him dead.

"He loved me well enough, but 't was his way
 To speak it lightly." Then, beneath her breath:
"Besides" —I knew what further she would say,
 But then a footfall broke my dream of death.

To-day the words are mine. I lay the rose
 Upon her breast, and speak her name, and deem
It strange indeed that she is dead. God knows
 I had more pleasure in the other dream.

1. A Builder
2. To the Bartholdi Statue
3. Rimer
4. The Legatee
5. The New Decalogue

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1183

Последние стихотворения

To English version