Oliver Herford (Оливер Херфорд)

The Outing

My Bed is like a little Bark,
The hatch is battened down,
And in the basket cabin dark
I sail away from Town.
Now, when they lift the lid, a scene
Of wonder meets my eyes,
Tall waving Feather-Dusters green,
That seem to touch the skies.
And over all the Ground is spread
A Rug of Emerald sweet,
Most deep enough to hide my head
And tickly to my feet.
And here’s the Cow, calm-eyed stands she,
The Genie of the Jug,
Beneath the Feather-Duster Tree,
And eats the Emerald Rug.

1. The Puncture
2. Why Ye Blossome Cometh before Ye Leafe
3. A Song of a Heart
4. The Milk Jug
5. The Hen

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1758

Последние стихотворения

To English version