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

* * *

When we are old and these rejoicing veins
Are frosty channels to a muted stream,
And out of all our burning their remains
No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream,
This be our solace: that it was not said
When we were young and warm and in our prime,
Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead,
Sleeping away the unreturning time.
O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love,
When morning strikes her spear upon the land,
And we must rise and arm us and reprove
The insolent daylight with a steady hand,
Be not discountenanced if the knowing know
We rose from rapture but an hour ago.

1. So She Came Back
2. When You, That at This Moment
3. Lord Archer, Death
4. Loving You Less Than Life
5. The Last White Sawdust

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1884

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