Stephen Crane (Стивен Крейн)

* * *

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.

1. A spirit sped
2. On the horizon the peaks assembled
3. Walking in the sky
4. The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds
5. The ocean said to me once

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1684

Последние стихотворения

To English version