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Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall (Марджори Пиктхолл) The Green Month WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing, Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you?– Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing, Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue? Nay, for spring has touched the elm, spring has found the willow, Winds that call the swallow home sway the boughs apart; Green shall all my curtains be, green shall be my pillow, Green I'll wear within my hair, and green upon my heart. Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1205 |
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