Thomas MacDonagh (Томас Макдона)

A Woman

Time on her face has writ
    A hundred years,
And all the page of it
    Blurred with his tears;

Yet in his holiest crypt
    Treasuring the scroll,
Keeps the sweet manuscript
    Fair as her soul.

1. The Philistine
2. The Stars Stand up in the Air
3. In Dread
4. Dublin Tramcars
5. To a Wise Man

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1734

Последние стихотворения

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