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Robert Anderson (Роберт Андерсон) Mary O Mary! when the wild wind blows, And blasts the beauties o' the rose; Thy coming fate to me it shews, And I cou'd weep for Mary. Aft has the blossom deck'd the tree, Sin first thy glancin tell--tale ee Confest a wee bit luive for me, And I was smit wi' Mary. O Mary! I hae loe'd thee lang; Thou'rt ay the burthen o' my sang; For day or night, where'er I gang, I think o' nought but Mary. When sleep seals up my wearied ee, In dreams thy angel form I see; And in fond raptures, say to thee, O, dinna leave me, Mary! O Mary! when the warl's unkind, And poverty thraws me behind, I ay can cheer my drooping mind Wi' thoughts o' thee, sweet Mary; For were I sick, and like to die, Thy witching smile wad comfort me; Then come what will, my wish shall be For happiness to Mary. Robert Anderson's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1489 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |