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Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей) * * * Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find The roots of last year's roses in my breast; I am as surely riper in my mind As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed. Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will, Call me in all things what I was before, A flutterer in the wind, a woman still; I tell you I am what I was and more. My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air, My sky is black with small birds bearing south; Say what you will, confuse me with fine care, Put by my word as but an April truth,“ Autumn is no less on me that a rose Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes. Edna St. Vincent Millay's other poems:
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Английская поэзия |