Walter Savage Landor (Уолтер Сэвидж Лэндор)

* * *

MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
    My fingers ache, my lips are dry: 
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
    But Oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;
    All other men may use deceit: 
He always said my eyes were blue,
    And often swore my lips were sweet. 

1. With Rosy Hand a Little Girl Prest Down
2. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
3. The Poet Who Sleeps
4. To Robert Browning
5. Ternissa! You Are Fled!

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1426

Последние стихотворения

To English version