Eva Gore-Booth (Эва Гор-Бут)

The Anti-Suffragist

The princess in her world-old tower pined
A prisoner, brazen-caged, without a gleam
Of sunlight, or a windowful of wind;
She lived but in a long lamp-lighted dream.

They brought her forth at last when she was old;
The sunlight on her blanched hair was shed
Too late to turn its silver into gold.
“Ah, shield me from this brazen glare!” she said.

1. Weariness
2. The Little Waves of Breffny
3. The Incarnate
4. The Weaver
5. The Eternal Rebel

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1800

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