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. Soldier: Twentieth Century
4. The Song of Tel the Nubian
5. На марше • Marching

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1881

Последние стихотворения

To English version