Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (Эмили Дикинсон)

* * *

I went to thank her,
But she slept;
Her bed a funnelled stone,
With nosegays at the head and foot,
That travellers had thrown,

Who went to thank her;
But she slept.
'T was short to cross the sea
To look upon her like, alive,
But turning back 't was slow.

1. A Syllable
2. If the Foolish Call Them
3. How Still the Bells in Steeples Stand
4. Unto My Books So Good to Turn
5. Forbidden Fruit. II

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1637

Последние стихотворения

To English version