William Watson (Уильям Уотсон)

* * *

When birds were songless on the bough
    I heard thee sing.
The world was full of winter, thou
    Wert full of spring.

To-day the world's heart feels anew
    The vernal thrill,
And thine beneath the rueful yew
    Is wintry chill.

1. Well He Slumbers, Greatly Slain
2. To a Friend
3. On Exaggerated Deference to Foreign Literary Opinion
4. And These - Are These Indeed the End
5. World-Strangeness

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