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Gordon Bottomley (Гордон Боттомли) The Ploughman UNDER the long fell's stony eaves The ploughman, going up and down, Ridge after ridge man's tide-mark leaves, And turns the hard grey soil to brown. Striding, he measures out the earth In lines of life, to rain and sun; And every year that comes to birth Sees him still striding on and on. The seasons change, and then return; Yet still, in blind, unsparing ways, However I may shrink or yearn, The ploughman measures out my days. His acre brought forth roots last year; This year it bears the gleamy grain; Next spring shall seedling grass appear: Then roots and corn and grass again. Five times the young corn's pallid green I have seen spread and change and thrill; Five times the reapers I have seen Go creeping up the far-off hill. And, as the unknowing ploughman climbs Slowly and inveterately, I wonder long how many times The corn will spring again for me. Gordon Bottomley's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1347 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |