Isaac Rosenberg (Айзек Розенберг)

A Girls Thoughts

Dim apprehension of a trust
Comes over me this quiet hour,
As though the silence were a flower,
And this, its perfume, dark like dust.

My individual self would cling
Through fear, through pride, unto its fears :
It strives to shut out what it hears,
The founts of being murmuring.

0 ! Need, whose hauntings terrorize;
Whether my maiden ways would hide,
Or lose and to that need subside,
Life shrinks and instinct dreads surprise.

1. The Dying Soldier
2. The Dead Heroes
3. The Song of Tel the Nubian
4. Soldier: Twentieth Century
5. На марше • Marching

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1832

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