Edward Thomas (Эдвард Томас)

A Cat

She had a name among the children;
But no one loved though someone owned
Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime
And had her kittens duly drowned.

In Spring, nevertheless, this cat
Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales,
And birds of bright voice and plume and flight,
As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.

I loathed and hated her for this;
One speckle on a thrush’s breast
Was worth a million such; and yet
She lived long, till God gave her rest. 

1. When We Two Walked
2. The Green Roads
3. If I Were to Own
4. Head and Bottle
5. Bright Clouds

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2569

Последние стихотворения

To English version