Walter John De la Mare (Уолтер Джон Де ла Мар)

England

No lovelier hills than thine have laid
  My tired thoughts to rest:
No peace of lovelier valleys made
  Like peace within my breast.

Thine are the woods whereto my soul,
  Out of the noontide beam,
Flees for a refuge green and cool
  And tranquil as a dream.

Thy breaking seas like trumpets peal;
  Thy clouds—how oft have I
Watched their bright towers of silence steal
  Into infinity!

My heart within me faults to roam
  In thought even far from thee:
Thine be the grave whereto I come,
  And thine my darkness be.

1. Iago
2. Polonius
3. Imogen
4. Juliet's Nurse
5. Idleness

Edith Nesbit (Эдит Несбит) England ("Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1765

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