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

* * *

And you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,--this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.

1. Not Over-Kind nor Over-Quick
2. The Cairn
3. When You, That at This Moment
4. I, Being Born a Woman
5. The Last White Sawdust

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1794

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