George Eliot (Джордж Элиот)

* * *

'Mid my gold-brown curls
There twined a silver hair:
I plucked it idly out
And scarcely knew 'twas there.
Coiled in my velvet sleeve it lay
And like a serpent hissed:
"Me thou canst pluck & fling away,
One hair is lightly missed;
But how on that near day
When all the wintry army muster in array?"

1. I Grant You Ample Leave
2. Bright, o Bright Fedalma
3. The World Is Great
4. How Lisa Loved the King
5. Roses

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1745

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