Elinor Wylie (Элинор Уайли)

Atavism

I was always afraid of Somes’s Pond: 
Not the little pond, by which the willow stands, 
Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands 
In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond. 
There, where the frost makes all the birches burn 
Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines 
Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines, 
Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.

You’ll say I dreamed it, being the true daughter 
Of those who in old times endured this dread. 
Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red 
A silent paddle moves below the water, 
A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath; 
Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.

1. In Our Content, before the Autumn Came
2. Upon Your Heart, Which Is.the Heart of All
3. The Pekingese
4. One Person
5. Absent Thee from Felicity Awhile

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1681

Последние стихотворения

To English version