Ernest Christopher Dowson (Эрнест Кристофер Доусон)

The Garden of Shadow

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.

Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours
Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting. 

1. Даме, задающей глупые вопросы • To a Lady Asking Foolish Questions
2. On the Birth of a Friend's Child
3. Villanelle of Sunset
4. Ad Manus Puellae
5. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes?

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1942

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