Philip Arthur Larkin (Филип Артур Ларкин)

Nothing to Be Said

For nations vague as weed,
For nomads among stones,
Small-statured cross-faced tribes
And cobble-close families
In mill-towns on dark mornings
Life is slow dying.

So are their separate ways
Of building, benediction,
Measuring love and money
Ways of slowly dying.
The day spent hunting pig
Or holding a garden-party,

Hours giving evidence
Or birth, advance
On death equally slowly.
And saying so to some
Means nothing; others it leaves
Nothing to be said.

1. At Grass
2. Mcmxiv
3. Church Going
4. The Building
5. Annus Mirabilis

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1597

Последние стихотворения

To English version