Thomas Gent (Томас Гент)

* * *

Come, Jenny, let me sip the dew,
That on those coral lips doth play,
One kiss would every care subdue,
And bid my weary soul be gay.

For surely, thou wert form'd by love
To bless the suffrer's parting sigh;
In pity then, my griefs remove,
And on that bosom let me die! 

1. Henry and Eliza
2. Lines, Written on the Sixth of September
3. To ––––
4. To a Fly, on the Bosom of Chloe, While Sleeping
5. When the Rough Storm Roars Round the Peasant's Cot

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1703

Последние стихотворения

To English version