Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

* * *

Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man’s desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at ever turn.

1. Not Over-Kind nor Over-Quick
2. The Cairn
3. When You, That at This Moment
4. The Last White Sawdust
5. Tenderly, in Those Times

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1872

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