George Crabbe (Джордж Крэбб)

On the Death of William Springall Levett

[1774.]

What though no trophies peer above his dust,
Nor sculptured conquests deck his sober bust;
What though no earthly thunders sound his name,
Death gives him conquest, and our sorrows fame:
One sigh reflection heaves, but shuns excess--
More should we mourn him, did we love him less.

1. Mira
2. Ye Gentle Gales
3. Parody on [Byrom's] “My Time, Oh Ye Muses”
4. The Learning of Love
5. The Wish

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1915

Последние стихотворения

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