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

* * *

Whereas at morning in a Jeweled Crown
I bit my fingers and was hard to please,
Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down
I feel tonight more happy and at ease:
Feet running in the corridors, men quick— 
Buckling their sword-belts, bumping down the stair,
Challenge, and rattling bridge-chain, and the click
Of hooves on pavement—this will clear the air.
Private this chamber as it has not been
In many a month of muffled hours; almost,
Lulled by the uproar, I could lie serene
And sleep, until all’s won, until all’s lost,
And the door’s opened and the issue shown,
And I walk forth Hell’s Mistress—or my own.

1. So She Came Back
2. The Last White Sawdust
3. When You, That at This Moment
4. She Filled Her Arms with Wood
5. Memory of Cape Cod

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1865

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