Lesbia Harford (Лесбия Харфорд)

White Sunshine

The sun's my fire.
Golden, from a magnificence of blue,
Should be its hue.
But woolly clouds,
Like boarding-house old ladies, come and sit
In front of it.
White sunshine, then,
That has the frosty glimmer of white hair,
Freezes the air.
They must forget,
So self-absorbed are they, so very old,
That I'll be cold.

1. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
2. Closing Time: Public Library
3. Do you remember still the little song
4. All through the day at my machine
5. If you have loved a brave story

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1198

Последние стихотворения

To English version