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Sara Teasdale (Сара Тисдейл)


Bells


At six o'clock of an autumn dusk
 With the sky in the west a rusty red,
The bells of the mission down in the valley
 Cry out that the day is dead.

The first star pricks as sharp as steel—
 Why am I suddenly so cold?
Three bells, each with a separate sound
 Clang in the valley, wearily tolled.

Bells in Venice, bells at sea,
 Bells in the valley heavy and slow—
There is no place over the crowded world
 Where I can forget that the days go.



Sara Teasdale's other poems:
  1. The Net
  2. In a Garden
  3. The Return
  4. The Nights Remember
  5. In Spring, Santa Barbara


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Английская поэзия