Robert Laurence Binyon (Роберт Лоренс Биньон)

* * *

Ah, now this happy month is gone,
Not now, my heart, complain,
Nor rail at Time because so soon
He takes his own again.

He takes his own, the weeks, the hours,
But leaves the best with thee;
Seeds of imperishable flowers
In fields of memory.

1. One Year Old
2. Now That I Have Won
3. Come Back, Sweet Yesterdays!
4. Flame and Snow
5. Nothing Is Enough!

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1785

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