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Rupert Atkinson (Руперт Аткинсон) William Blake LITTLE songs like fairies winging Down the happy star-ways, falling, When you heard his fancy singing Many a joy of gold and blue, Glancing, gleaming, dancing, dreaming, Did you hear him laughing, calling. Calling you? Little songs he spied and caught you Though you dallied, weeping, praying; Through bright woodlands wild he brought you Under skies of white and blue; Glancing, gleaming, dancing, dreaming. Where you played he lingered playing, Playing too. Little songs he left you, dying; Songs that could not find him, hollow With sick pining, lured him, sighing; And his dreams of gold and blue, Glancing, gleaming, dancing, dreaming. These are lost until we follow, Follow too. Rupert Atkinson's other poems:
Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1607 |
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Английская поэзия | ||