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* * * Like the touch of rain she was On a man's flesh and hair and eyes When the joy of walking thus Has taken him by surprise: With the love of the storm he burns, He sings, he laughs, well I know how, But forgets when he returns As I shall not forget her 'Go now'. Those two words shut a door Between me and the blessed rain That was never shut before And will not open again. Edward Thomas's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2467 |
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