Robert Seymour Bridges (Роберт Сеймур Бриджес)

Shorter Poems. Book IV. 12. “The Hill Pines Were Sighing”

The hill pines were sighing,
O'ercast and chill was the day:
A mist in the valley lying
Blotted the pleasant May.

But deep in the glen's bosom
Summer slept in the fire
Of the odorous gorse-blossom
And the hot scent of the brier.

A ribald cuckoo clamoured,
And out of the copse the stroke
Of the iron axe that hammered
The iron heart of the oak.

Anon a sound appalling,
As a hundred years of pride
Crashed, in the silence falling;
And the shadowy pine-trees sighed.

1. Shorter Poems. Book III. 16. Song (I love my lady’s eyes)
2. Shorter Poems. Book II. 4. Wooing
3. Shorter Poems. Book I. 17. Triolet (All women born are so perverse)
4. Shorter Poems. Book II. 8. Spring. Ode I
5. Shorter Poems. Book III. 11. “O Thou Unfaithful, Still As Ever Dearest”

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1631

Последние стихотворения

To English version