John McCrae (Джон Маккрей)

The Night Cometh

Cometh the night. The wind falls low,
The trees swing slowly to and fro:
Around the church the headstones grey
Cluster, like children strayed away
But found again, and folded so.

No chiding look doth she bestow:
If she is glad, they cannot know;
If ill or well they spend their day,
Cometh the night.

Singing or sad, intent they go;
They do not see the shadows grow;
”There yet is time,” they lightly say,
”Before our work aside we lay”;
Their task is but half-done, and lo!
Cometh the night.

1. Upon Watts’ Picture ”Sic Transit”
2. Isandlwana
3. Eventide
4. The Anxious Dead
5. Equality

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1732

Последние стихотворения

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