James Stephens (Джеймс Стивенс)

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The night was creeping on the ground;
She crept and did not make a sound
Until she reached the tree, and then
She covered it, and sole again
Along the grass beside the wall.

I heard the rustle of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere
Upon the sky and ground and air,
And in the room where I was hid:
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out.

So I stared at the night, and she
Stared back solemnly at me. 

1. The Lonely God
2. Westland Row
3. In the Poppy Field
4. The Fifteen Acres
5. The Turn of the Road

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1915

Последние стихотворения

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