Sara Teasdale (Сара Тисдейл)

The Net

I made you many and many a song,
 Yet never one told all you are—
It was as though a net of words
 Were flung to catch a star;

It was as though I curved my hand
 And dipped sea-water eagerly,
Only to find it lost the blue
 Dark splendor of the sea.

1. Morning Song
2. Gray Fog
3. Nahant
4. Spring Torrents
5. Snowfall

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1790

Последние стихотворения

To English version