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Lascelles Abercrombie (Ласкеллес Аберкромби)


* * *


ALL last night I had quiet
    In a fragrant dream and warm: 
She became my Sabbath,
    And round my neck, her arm.

I knew the warmth in my dreaming;
    The fragrance, I suppose, 
Was her hair about me,
    Or else she wore a rose.

Her hair I think; for likest
    Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring 
Loitering down the wet woodways
    Treads it sauntering.

No light, nor any speaking;
    Fragrant only and warm. 
Enough to know my lodging,
    The white Sabbath of her arm. 



Lascelles Abercrombie's other poems:
  1. Roses Can Wound
  2. The Box
  3. Hymn To Love


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