Edwin John Dove Pratt (Эдвин Джон Дав Пратт)

In Lantern Light

I could not paint, nor could I draw
    The look that searched the night;
The bleak refinement of the face I saw
    In lantern light.

A cunning hand might seize the crag,
    Or stay the flight of a gull,
Or the rocket's flash; or more—the lightning jag
    That lit the hull.

But as a man born blind must steal
    His colors from the night
By hand, I had to touch that face to feel
    It marble white.

1. The Flood Tide
2. The Ice-Floes
3. The Ground-Swell
4. The Big Fellow
5. The Toll of the Bells

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1877

Последние стихотворения

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