Christopher Morley (Кристофер Морли)

Six Weeks Old

He is so small, he does not know
The summer sun, the winter snow;
The spring that ebbs and comes again,
All this is far beyond his ken.

A little world he feels and sees:
His mother's arms, his mother's knees;
He hides his face against her breast,
And does not care to learn the rest. 

1. The Commercial Traveller
2. Washing the Dishes
3. To a Grandmother
4. Ars Dura
5. O. Henry—Apothecary

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1721

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