William Henry Davies (Уильям Генри Дэвис (Дэйвис))

My Youth

My youth was my old age,
    Weary and long;
It had too many cares
    To think of song;
My moulting days all came
    When I was young.

Now, in life's prime, my soul
    Comes out in flower;
Late, as with Robin, comes
    My singing power;
I was not born to joy
    Till this late hour.

1. Poor Kings
2. Love and the Muse
3. Thunderstorms
4. Strong Moments
5. Smiles

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1706

Последние стихотворения

To English version