Lizette Woodworth Reese (Лайзетт Вудворт Риз)

* * *

OH, gray and tender is the rain,
That drips, drips on the pane!
A hundred things come in the door,
The scent of herbs, the thought of yore.

I see the pool out in the grass,
A bit of broken glass;
The red flags running wet and straight,
Down to the little flapping gate.

Lombardy poplars tall and three,
Across the road I see;
There is no loveliness so plain
As a tall poplar in the rain.

But oh, the hundred things and more,
That come in at the door! --
The smack of mint, old joy, old pain,
Caught in the gray and tender rain.

1. Herbs
2. A Song for Candlemas
3. Lydia is gone this many a year
4. Mid-March
5. Trust

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1202

Последние стихотворения

To English version