Джон Ванс Чини (John Vance Cheney)

Somewhere

THE WEASEL thieves in silver suit,
  The rabbit runs in gray;
And Pan takes up his frosty flute
  To pipe the cold away.

The flocks are folded, boughs are bare,        
  The salmon take the sea;
And O my fair, would I somewhere
  Might house my heart with thee!

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