William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

Where My Books Go

All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken’d or starry bright.

1. To Ireland in the Coming Times
2. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
3. The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
4. The Pity of Love
5. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1955

Последние стихотворения

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